The Trouble With Paradise
by skinnyrita
Summary: Sequel to 'Under his Hands' but can be read alone. An indiscretion with another player leaves Draco distraught and Harry desperate. Will their ten years together be overcome by the consequences of Harry's affair? Rated M overall.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Sequel to 'Under his Hands' but can be read alone. An indiscretion with another player leaves Draco distraught and Harry desperate. Will their ten years together be overcome by the consequences of Harry's affair?

This story is written in the same style as 'Under his Hands', and takes place ten years after the previous story leaves off. Harry and Draco have bought a house and lived together as an 'out' Quidditch couple (Harry a player and Draco on staff as a healer/physio), diminishing the number of closeted players by their firm stance – the Quidditch community is now far more tolerant. In the interim between the original story and this sequel, the couple have legally adopted Teddy as their son and he lives between their house and Andromeda's during Hogwarts holidays. However, the media circus that continues to surround Harry and Draco's relationship has taken its toll on the couple, and following Harry's stupid actions at the England Team World Cup trials, Draco has to decide for good whether their relationship and the family they have made with Teddy and Andromeda is worth the pain of fighting for… initially intended as a one-shot, this has become a longer and more involved story than even I had anticipated, but it is completed! Get a cup of tea and a packet of biscuits, and go to the loo before embarking!

Author Note: Draco has symptoms of disordered eating in this fic, if you are upset by this issue or think you recognise these symptoms, I recommend BEAT. Their website is www..uk and has information, forums and helplines.

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**The Trouble With Paradise**

_a turbulent reality envisaged by skinnyrita_

**EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS! HARRY POTTER…. PLAYS AWAY?**

Special report by Rita Skeeter

'This reporter is shocked to the core by that which she is about to divulge to her faithful readers. Here, secreted away on the Isle of Merlin, miles from the British mainland, the tryouts for this year's England Quidditch World Cup team are taking place. Seekers, Chasers and Keepers from all the top premiership teams are here, competing against each other as they have been for the past month for a place or reserve on the most important team of all this year.

_For Harry Potter, exulted Seeker for the Brinsbourne Beaters, second from top of the league and still going strong after carrying his position as starter Seeker for the team for almost twelve years, these tryouts will mean everything. The 34-year-old is due to end his professional Quidditch stint within the next two years, in-keeping with the league's strict age policies, and he will be trying out for England (for the last time) against a lot of new blood this year, including the Tornadoes' reserve Seeker Alexander Cutteridge, whose team is carrying a respectful fourth place in the league tables. _

_Potter and Cutteridge have socialised in Quidditch circles for the past six years, attending networking events, charity balls and various fundraising activities, with Potter often accompanied by his long-term partner of ten years, Draco Malfoy, the esteemed sports-healer (and official physiotherapist to the Brinsbourne Beaters). Potter and Malfoy have cohabited in South Kensington, a Muggle area of London, with Potter's godson Theodore, who will shortly be commencing his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_Are Potter and Cutteridge becoming too close? This reporter has to admit to a little investigative work after watching Potter and Cutteridge's rather friendly behaviour towards each other whilst watching the third round of Keeper tryouts last week. Leaning towards each other, Potter was seen to brush the hair away from Cutteridge's ear before leaning in to speak to him as they sat in the stands, and this reporter was alarmed to notice Potter's left hand sneak onto the rival Seeker's thigh momentarily before withdrawing and looking about with a guilty expression. Was this friendly caress merely the product of a quiet comment, or could it have been something more? _

_The following evening, my photographer and I were again shocked and appalled by the actions of the two Seekers as they left the evening's press networking dinner together, and trailed them to the training locker rooms, where after re-asserting their privacy Cutteridge offered Potter a swig from the bottle of firewhiskey he was toting and then, putting his hand to the base of the Tornadoes' Seeker's throat, leant in and kissed him cautiously on the mouth (see photograph below). Although Potter was seemingly embarrassed by what had transpired, making an excuse to leave Cutteridge shortly afterwards, this reporter had a hunch that this would not be the end of the duo's despicable tryst. _

_Not hardly were they done, as a mere two nights later, after a Quidditch League formal dinner, Cutteridge was seen to catch up with Potter upon leaving the event, and whilst their team-mates and tryout rivals continued to toast the delegations from the Department of Games and Sports, and the visiting Quidditch officials, he accompanied him to the Brinsbourne Beaters' team quarters, where spinning Potter into a wall they embraced a further three times with increasing heat (see quartet of photos below – readers of a nervous disposition may wish to turn the page). _

_As the two Seekers then retired to Potter's private quarters, (Cutteridge attached to Potter's neck by his teeth,) one can only speculate on the further activities of the evening, however this reporter has two questions: firstly, is a month away from one's significant other really so long that Potter could not keep his emotions in his pants, and secondly: how many more times has Potter played away in the past years, during no less than five former tryout sessions for the England team (three of which he has been granted the starter Seeker position), whilst his godson, of whom he has guardianship, and his long-term lover, waited patiently at home without a clue of his indiscretions? _

_This reporter can only imagine the reaction of Draco Malfoy, whose…'_

Draco expelled a sound of revulsion and threw the Daily Prophet across the dining table, where it smacked into the far wall with a crunch of new paper and dropped to the carpet. He was close to hyperventilating, one hand over his mouth as his eye fell on the open envelope next to him; hideous photographs replaying scenes he would gladly pay to have obliviated from his head. Harry: pinned to the sheets, head thrown back, face and expression obscured by the elated motion, and worst of all: the clenching backside of Alex thrusting in and out of him. He had searched the envelope twice but had no clue who had sent these ones. He was oddly grateful that they hadn't found their way into the Prophet, but the roiling sickness in his guts was churning for the suspense that that could happen yet.

The next photo, a close up of the duo kissing, so much more intimate in colour than the grainy black and white, hurried moments captured by Skeeter's photographer. He turned them all over then slid them back into the envelope, resisting the urge to burn them. The table was glossy with polish, and he could almost make out his own reflection in it. He had never felt helplessness like this.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he jerked round to find Teddy's concerned face looking down at him, the sixteen-year-old's handsome face framed by his own shade of blonde. Solidarity, he thought, and something melted in him.

"Dad?"

"Hey Ted, you look so smart," he forced himself to smile, focusing on the Ravenclaw crest of his adopted son's school uniform, and smoothing a crease out of the shoulder of his pullover.

"Are you going to be alright? I can stay for a bit, we could owl the headmistress."

Draco met his eye briefly, then glanced away, lost. "You've read the Prophet."

"When's Harry coming back?"

Draco frowned and fiddled with the boy's tie. It was a mark of the moment's gravity that he allowed it. "That's 'dad' to you, alright? No matter what happens with us, we're both still your dads and we love you very much. I'm very proud of you, Ted. I want you to be a really good Prefect this year. Be an inspiration and don't abuse your position no matter how tempting."

"Dad!" Teddy squirmed and Draco released him. "I wouldn't do that. What, um, what're you going to do?"

Draco blinked salt. What was wrong with him? He steeled himself and pulled himself together. "I don't know," he admitted, honestly, "Your dad and I need to have a talk when he gets back."

When he gets home, he thought, desperately, oh God, when he gets _home_...

He gritted his teeth and smiled. "Let's get you to the station, okay? There will probably be some press and I don't think Harry or your granny would thank me if you get photographed. Bit early, but you can get a good seat…"

Teddy threw his arms around Draco's neck and hugged him tightly. Draco pressed his lips together into a line. All of his internal organs were tense, and his throat was blocked with fear. For a few moments he allowed himself to cling to his son, until the panic passed. He withdrew and gave him a final appraisal: "Cloak?"

"In my case, I'll put it on when we get out of Kings Cross."

"Everything packed?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Have you got all your books? Have you got your broom?"

"Yes, yes!" Teddy gave him an impatient look. With a final glance at the white envelope on the table, Draco pulled himself together and allowed himself to be dragged from the chair.

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It was dark in the hallway when Harry opened the front door. He shut it behind him quietly and dropped his keys into the bowl on the corner table before flicking the muggle light switch. He was standing less than a footstep away from three large packing cases. He paused, looking at them, and the sinking feeling in his stomach suddenly settled, and the clamp around his heart tightened in its place, his lungs contracting inwards so that he had to gasp for breath, his eyes blurred with a scalding rush of tears.

There was a light showing under the door to their huge open-plan lounge and dining area. It was perfectly decorated in a marriage of their tastes, the pale blue accent wall behind the large table, trimmed with midnight skirting, and the deep slate carpet with the sumptuous pile. Comfortable yet achingly chic low couches courtesy of Draco's superior design tastes, and the high definition television Harry had introduced him to. An enormous Dean Thomas original, compliments of their mutual friend, hanging over the wide mantelpiece, a reminder of their eighth year together. Eighth of just over ten years that he, Harry, had now utterly ruined.

Draco was sitting at the dining table when Harry opened the door, his back to the wall, as though waiting for him. Harry's steps faltered on approach at the red rims around his lover's lowered eyes, the stiff set of his shoulders. His sadness.

"Draco?"

Draco cleared his throat, steeling himself, and looked up. He studied his lover for a moment. Harry looked exactly the same as he had a month ago when they had said a cheerfully teary goodbye, Teddy scowling and complaining when they pulled him into their cuddle, stating himself far too old for hugs. Hell, he was even wearing the same shirt and jeans he'd left in. There was a bruise on his jaw where Draco guessed a bludger had come too close. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets. Draco looked away, shaking his hair off his forehead unconsciously. "Harry."

"Please don't do this, Draco, I can explain, I can-"

Draco slammed his palm down on the table. Harry startled, then quieted. The blond wet his lips, and said, "I don't want you to explain. I don't want you to talk to me. I can't deal with it right now, alright? I've arranged for you to stay with Ron and Hermione."

"Draco, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Harry I'm warning you, stop or I will crucio you so hard you will know about it for the rest of your life."

Harry sucked in a breath. Draco's face was unnaturally red. He wanted to kiss him and hold him so badly it was burning him. "T-Teddy?"

Draco made an ugly noise and glared at him. "He left for school yesterday morning. Oh, and he made prefect, in case you give a fuck."

"Don't you _dare_ imply I don't care about Ted!"

"You don't care about any_one_ or any_thing_, Harry! _Fuck_ I can't even look at you right now. _Here_! Press release! Exclusive, read all about it!" Draco found that he was on his feet. Flecks of angry spittle hit the polished tabletop as he hurled the offending Prophet with Skeeter's article at Harry's head. He was out of control, and was ashamed of himself for it. He seated himself again and regained his composure.

Harry bent and picked up the paper where it had fallen at his feet, and shakily unfolded the front page. Images of his hands in Alex's hair, connected at the lips, assaulted him in shades of grainy grey. A few drops of saltwater fell across their faces and he dropped it sadly to the carpet again. "_Draco_-" his voice was broken, and he had to swallow the bile.

"Just go. Oh _please_, please _go_." Hands hiding his face from view.

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"I _cheated_ on him."

Hermione put a mug of tea down on the table and exchanged a grim look with her husband. It was two days after Harry and Draco had parted, and the couple's scheme to remain silent and allow Harry to open up to them when he was ready, was now paying off. The usually bubbly brunette had shocked his friends with his suddenly drawn and sallow features. The grey tinge under his cheekbones coupled with slight bruising around the eyes told them that he had probably slept very little if at all the night before. His eyes were wide and unseeing with self-shame.

"Oh God," Harry breathed. One hand flew up to cover his eyes so that he wouldn't be seen losing his composure, but it was too late, and at the touch of Hermione's tender hands on his hunched shoulders, his whole body became racked with dry sobs, quickly escalating.

He heard her quietly ask Ron to take their children into the next room, before she admitted, "we didn't want to believe the papers, even with the photos. Harry, why?"

Harry dropped his hand and stared up into her maternal, compassionate face: "I don't _know_! Oh God, Hermione, what can I do? We're broken, _I've broken us_, I'm doing it and I don't know how to stop it… we were so happy, so perfect… and I've _hurt him_! Again and again I keep on hurting him, what's _wrong_ with me!" She gathered him into her arms and rocked him, shushing, but his eyes could not stop spilling over, and it was exhausting and _painful_, so painful it hurt his stomach, scrunching his insides and his face into balls of misery. Eventually the sobs subsided, leaving breathy gasps in the aftermath. "What's wrong with me, Hermione? How can I have done that to him? I _love_ him."

"Only you can know that."

"Alex, he's one of our friends, we go to dinner with him and his boyfriends, socially, as a foursome. It's such a mess. Everyone at the club hates me, Draco and I have to see each other at work tomorrow, and I can't – I don't – Hermione, please, please, what do I do?"

Hermione rubbed his back for a while, compiling words and mentally discarding them. "Have you and Draco… had problems?"

"No," Harry sniffed and rubbed his eyes against the arm of his jumper. "I don't know. I mean, we are happy, but our sex life isn't the same, and working together isn't the same. It's hard sometimes, to be in each other's pockets all the time, but then when I have to …play away… then it feels all so sudden and so lonely… I…"

"All couples go through dry sex patches."

"It's not that we're not having it, just…" he flushed, glancing sideways at her. Hermione looked at him. "It's… he doesn't ask if he can take me anymore. It was special because we only made time for me to… do that… at the weekend when I didn't have Quidditch, and slowly he stopped asking me if he could, and then he never did it, and it was just… I can't describe how I feel; it's different to straight couples. Imagine if Ron never wanted to love you… I mean, no that's not the same."

"Um, right…" Hermione frowned, trying to keep up. "And, and working together?" she ventured, trying to get onto an easier topic.

Harry sighed and blew out the breath he was holding. "I hate how we've become there. I used to love being able to see him any time of day, but I hate the way I feel when I see him massaging the other players, his attention on them when he tends them… and I know I shouldn't be jealous, that he's with me, but… _argh_! I don't even _know_ what I mean! What the _fuck_ am I talking about? None of those reasons are a reason to… to… _fuck_, I…" he dropped his head to his arms again and sobbed a little. "What the hell is the matter with me? I love him so _much_, I love him more than _anything_…"

"Shh, shh, I know…"

He concentrated on controlling himself, on breathing. "Hermione, he's never going to forgive me for this."

"I think you need to talk to each other about it."

"And say what?"

She ran a hand through his hair. It was curiously tender.

"Anything you like, as long as it's the truth. Do you really want to throw away ten years with him after all you went through to be together in the first place? I remember you sitting at this very table Harry, desperate to come out in public with him and worrying yourself sick about going public with being a gay Quidditch player, terrified of losing him forever if you didn't sit up and confront it. And you _did_, Harry, you _did_ confront it, and look what wonderful things came out of it: a house together, helping bring up Teddy together, ten years together… isn't any of it worth saving?"

He swallowed and nodded vehemently. "Yes, yes I want that back so much."

"Were you losing it?"

"I… I don't know. I feel so sick. Alex was… he was there, that's all. Maybe I was always a bit attracted to him, but no one could compare to Draco… it's nice having other out gay players to socialise with… I hate being at the trials, and you don't get to contact anyone 'outside'… I just – I can't think about it any more Hermione, I'm going back to bed."

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"Potter! Jennings! Aldridge!" Harry jogged across the pitch towards Bill Wandersley, the Brinsbourne Beaters' team manager, feeling sick and wishy-washy inside. He had managed to make it to the club for his 5 am training session by the skin of his teeth and was seriously sleep-deprived. Ron and Hermione had gone to lengths to ensure his comfort in their guest suite, but he couldn't settle without Draco's feet burrowing against his own, and felt completely bereft that morning when he prised his gummy eyes open and was greeted by cold, uninhabited pillows beside him.

"Congratulations lads, you made the list for next year's England team. I will expect you here four mornings a week for top-up training when our premiership season closes in two months…so around and up to Christmas, and beyond that after New Year… and then from May until July's World Cup you will start mixing in with the other selections from whatever other teams have made it in, alright? Same as usual, any changes and I'll keep you informed," Wandersley was saying briskly, consulting a large clipboard with various memos attached to it. Jennings and Aldridge were jogging on the spot to keep their pulse rates elevated. Harry dawdled at the side looking wan. "Great job from each of you at the tryouts… Potter, you've got reserve Seeker."

Harry stared at him. He had never been shunted to reserve before. All of those weeks away from Draco and Teddy. The loneliness. For reserve.

"Thank you Jennings, Aldridge," Wandersley added; a brusque dismissal. Harry clearly heard his teammates comment as they jogged back to the session that if Harry had had his mind on the game rather than the other tryout Seekers, he might have got a better position.

Wandersley's usually paternal expression had moulded itself into distaste that made Harry tremble. "Sir, I-"

"Your last _ever_ opportunity to play for England, son, and you had to go and balls it up," Wandersley spat, shaking his head. "You need to get your head screwed back on and get your mind back in the game, Potter. Reserve or not, I want that win secured by a player from _this team_, and that means that the onus is on _you_ to show this country, to show the world, that retiring at thirty-six is nothing to a man with a talent and sportsmanship like yours. Understand me?"

Harry hung his head and inspected the grass. "Yes."

"Good." Wandersley thawed a little and put a steadying hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm not a man who pries in the private affairs of his players, as you know, but son, this business with Cutteridge is something that can't be ignored. You've let yourself and the team down, and I don't think I need to tell you that there's a lad in that physio room that you've really, _really_ let down." Harry nodded, and swallowed salt. "I'm going to level with you Harry: Malfoy is one of our team's biggest assets. He can heal players like it was a gift from above, and if he leaves this team… I'm not sure how well we could cope without his gifts to finish our season, and I certainly don't want him getting poached by a rival. Above all of that though, I need your game to be on top form, and for that every player needs full mental stability. He arrived half an hour ago. I've cleared his appointment book for the next hour. Get showered, and go and grovel your bloody arse off." He returned to the clipboard and began to walk away towards one of the trainers.

Harry wandered out of the showers in a daze, roughly towelling his body and hair before pulling on his tracksuit. He had forty minutes left to see Draco, but his head was empty save for the echoing pain that connected his thoughts to his heart and stomach. He scrambled for the sinks and dry-hurled. By the time he had collected himself and made it to his lover's office, there was only half an hour left. Too much time to fill, and yet not nearly enough.

Draco was standing by the large windows behind his desk, his back to the door, when Harry arrived. "I had an owl from the Montrose Magpies. They want me to move to their team. Be their healer."

"You're not-"

"Do you really think I'll let you push me out of this team?" Draco turned around and Harry stepped back with the force of his icy sapphire glare: "You think you're so important that you can do whatever the hell you want and I'll just go away and _hide_ someplace?" he was right in Harry's face now.

"Please Draco… Draco…" the back of Harry's knees hit the massage table and he sat on it, flailing as he overbalanced.

"You've fucking _humiliated_ me! You've _hurt_ me! In _here_!" Draco shouted, losing control as he moved to prevent Harry from escaping, and pressing a hand against his chest. Another time, with another couple, Harry might have found the gesture humorous. Now, it made him scrunch his face in pain. "I fucking _love_ you! For ten fucking _years_ I've lived with you like I was _married_ to you, helped you _raise our son_, put up with all of this _crap_ – the early sodding mornings, the late nights, the media hounding us _every single fucking day_, the press conferences and public appearances, the Hogwarts events _you_ couldn't go to because _you_ had to get up and train at four in the fucking morning!" He was screaming himself hoarse but he couldn't stop. Harry felt tears wet his neck and even trickle into his training shirt – a uniform he donned practically every morning because his life was ruled by his sport.

"You're the only long-term relationship I've ever had! And it was the best thing that ever happened to me!" Draco was shaking him. Shaking him hard and all he could do was watch. "I have _never_ cheated on you! Never, ever, _ever_! I _love_ you, you fucking, fucking _bastard_!"

The blond finally broke down and collapsed in mewing sobs on Harry's chest, whose arms came up of their own accord and held him tightly. He clung to Harry's t-shirt, face wet in the juncture of his neck. "Oh God, why don't you _love_ me?" he whispered. The emotional outburst had shattered him – with Draco it had always been all or nothing with extreme emotion. Harry gathered him up and manoeuvred them so that they were lying precariously on the narrow bench.

He pressed his lips against Draco's hair and let them both sob until they settled into silence. "I love you," he whispered back.

Draco made a noise as though being squashed. "No Harry, I don't think you can love me."

"I would do anything to… I would retire from Quidditch today. If it's what you want."

"Would you?" Draco twisted to look into his face. Harry swallowed the panic at the idea, and nodded. Anything, even that would be preferable to this. Draco took a deep breath in. "No, I don't want that Harry." He searched his eyes. They were like his own: wide, and scared. He had always thought of Harry's eyes as his most beautiful feature, large and almond shaped with that unique greenness, and accented since the expulsion of his glasses eleven years ago. Crinkled with little crow's feet at the outer corner. He caressed his cheekbone idly, before tasting his mouth. They stared at each other in silence for a while afterwards. Being quiet. "I have an appointment in three minutes."

"Draco."

Draco disentangled them and got off the massage bench. "I need some time. Please stay with the Weasleys, and don't contact me. I'll find you when I want to talk about this. I have assigned Greg to you for your physio for the time being. You may tell Wandersley that I have no plans to desert the team. That's all now." He pulled his appointment book towards him without seeing it. "Harry, please."

When the door closed a horrible dry buzzing filled his ears.

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It was almost a fortnight before Harry had any kind of communication from Draco again – no mean feat considering they shared the same workplace. He thought perhaps he might be outstaying his welcome at Ron and Hermione's. They might all be best friends, but Harry's work hours could be annoying to people who were unused to them – in all honesty, the only person totally attuned to them was Draco. The Weasleys' ten-year-old son Robbie was a pest who liked to ask him a million questions whenever their paths crossed, which although sweet could be a total pain when he was trying to get other things done, and their three year-old Jennie liked to throw her tantrums at the exact moment he was drifting off to sleep. He began to consider the fact that their older daughter Charlotte was at Hogwarts a blessing.

Harry began to spend as much time at his office on Fraction Alley, the wizarding banking district, as possible, although even there he couldn't escape from his long-suffering publicist Janet and the rise in press attention to be dealt with since his indiscretion with Alex. Despite this, he spent as little time at the BB's pitch as possible, and cut his appointments with Draco's assistant healer, Greg, to a minimum, avoiding that area of the club as much as possible in keeping with Draco's request to let him alone. The worst part of all was that he had no one to blame but himself.

"Harry, come and have a cup of tea," Hermione's voice floated over to him as he stepped out of the floo and brushed off his robes. He had spent the entire afternoon at the office trying to convince the publishers of Witch Weekly that they should postpone his next interview until the year he was due to retire. Sadly, that date was not too far off.

"Draco came here today," she said without preamble, placing two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits on the table. Harry sat down and vaguely registered Jennie at his feet, playing with alphabet bricks. He stared at her blankly as she arranged them into v-e-r-i-t-a-s-e-r-u-m and scrambled them again. Hermione put a fizzing glass containing his multivitamin supplements next to his mug. "We had a chat about living arrangements," she continued. "Well, your living arrangements anyway. He wants you to go home today – with your luggage."

"I…" Harry blinked at the frothy glass and took a contraband biscuit – he wasn't supposed to be eating them during the season, but these were extreme circumstances. "Has he forgiven me? Does he want to talk? To get back together? I don't understand, he hasn't spoken to me once for two weeks!" he tugged at his hair and then quickly downed the multivitamin cocktail with a grimace.

"I'm not sure… mainly he asked about the kids. I hope you don't mind but I started packing for you – Quidditch gear is in a pile on your bed, and other bits are in a pile in one of your suitcases. I thought it might help if you got home early."

Harry gave her a grateful smile. "You're a good friend, 'Mione." He sat back and nibbled the biscuit. "I don't know what I can say to him besides how sorry I am and how much I love him…"

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When Draco finally arrived home it was early evening. He'd had several massage appointments booked on top of each other – an after-effect of taking off to visit Hermione. There was a smell of cooking in progress snaking towards the door, and he stood there for a moment listening to the person moving about in the kitchen before quietly closing the door and putting his keys in the bowl on the hall table. He removed his cloak and hung it slowly while he continued to listen. The footsteps and movements he heard were too heavy to belong to Kreacher, who was old and frail now, so it must be Harry back.

"What're we having?"

Harry started at the voice, and turned quickly. He knew that the scene wasn't perfect – he usually wore old jeans and little else when cooking, but hoped that Draco would appreciate the gesture all the same. "Risotto," he offered, quirking a hesitant half smile. Unlike in the past, however, Draco made no move to wrap his arms around his waist. He stood against the doorframe and folded his arms.

"I'll set the table," he said, eventually, although stepping into the space he noticed that either Harry or Kreacher had already beaten him to it. He frowned at the intimacy of eating in the kitchen, having hoped to put the formal dining table between them. For a moment he faltered, bereft of any purpose, until he spied the bottle of white wine standing on the counter and took his time opening it and pouring half a glass each. When he looked up, Harry was watching him. "Teddy was in a fight at school," Draco said.

"A fight?" Harry looked perplexed. "But… he's never been in trouble before."

"Well he is now, McGonagall herself flooed my office this morning." Draco folded his arms again. Harry was staring at him with alertness now, absently stirring the risotto. "Apparently some lads in the year above him have been making a combination of metamorphmagus and gay related jibes at him, but that's all he'll tell her. When he came back this term they wanted to know, and I quote the headmistress: 'just how many queers has your godfather let ram his arse'. Ted lost it."

Harry had abandoned the risotto completely. Kreacher appeared with a pop and pushed him away from the stove. He wandered trancelike to the nearest chair and sat in it. "Oh my god, Teddy," he murmured. Draco sat down opposite him and leant his arms on the table. "Is he okay?"

"He spent a night in the hospital wing but I think it was to get him to calm down more than anything else. You know he's not very handy. He gave one of the lads a bloody nose but that's about it. Luckily I spoke to McGonagall about him and she's not going to take his prefect badge, but it was pretty close."

Harry stared at the table.

"Hogwarts have a Hogsmeade weekend," Draco continued, face pinched, "so I was thinking we could go and see him tomorrow. I've already seen Andromeda, she'll meet us there at two o'clock."

"He didn't tell me he'd been bullied," Harry frowned.

Draco shook his head. "Nor me. But it happens."

"He must have put up with shit about us before."

"Yes." Their eyes met silently as Kreacher served the risotto and they began to eat mechanically. "Harry, why haven't you owled him since you got back?"

"I didn't know what to say."

"You - fucking hell," the blond shook his head derisively; "I don't understand you right now. He was devastated by that Prophet article, and there's certainly been enough press since then. He thinks of you as his real dad, you know?" he pulled his hands through his hair and picked up his fork, still shaking his head.

"What're we going to do?"

Draco sighed. "Present a united front, I suppose. Let him know it's not alright to fight, but that we understand why it happened and that we love him. That we're both…here for him, parentally. Even if we're not together." He concentrated hard on his dinner, feeling Harry's gaze on him.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I don't know… It's been very hard. There's press outside the wards every minute of the day right now. We bought in a muggle district to avoid just this sort of attention, and now it's gone way out of hand. That's why I asked you to move back in… I… I think I'm going to move to Andromeda's for a while, until it starts dying down. I've had more press attention since… more than I've ever had. I can't cope with it, Harry; I'm not in the public eye like you are. It's too much."

"Uhm," Harry swallowed, his plate swimming in front of him. "I really love and _miss_ you, I hoped… I… _sorry_," he burst, wiping tears furiously and pushing back his chair. He rushed out of the kitchen before Draco could react.

Harry was in the large lounge area when Draco found him. The blond had finished his dinner as sedately as possible; casting a stasis charm over Harry's to stop it getting too cold. At first he had contemplated throwing the rest of his portion away, but a part of him didn't want to upset Harry if he found it, so he ate it methodically despite the fact that after their discussion it tasted like ash. He leaned in the doorway looking at the back of his lover's messy black mop over the edge of the low couch, wondering whether he'd allowed enough of a cooling period yet. A rustle of paper alerted him that Harry was reading a Daily Prophet. He strode over, snatched it from his grasp and noted the front page before folding it in half and dropping it on the floor. Harry scrambled into a half-sitting position and looked at him. His eyes were red and the skin around them was blotchy.

"I don't want _him_, or his face, or even his _name_ in our house, _ever_ again," Draco gritted, tense. Unconsciously, he kicked the latest Prophet to re-showcase Harry and Alex's embrace, under the couch. "Hey-!" with a jerk and a twist, Harry had yanked him over the back of the couch and onto himself. Draco scrambled and clutched to prevent himself from falling, eventually finding purchase on the brunette's shoulders, a thigh on each side.

They glared at each other intensely before leaning in together and connecting in a tentative kiss. Draco felt Harry moan and deepen the intimate link by stroking the length of his tongue in a curl along his own. His fingers threaded into the soft hairs at the nape of Draco's neck, stroking the sensitive area he so loved to be touched and caressed, the touch that made him feel so loved each time. He paused, uncertain for the first time as to whether to allow it, and broke the kiss. Harry stretched his neck forwards to nuzzle the tip of his nose, prolonging their contact. His eyes were large and hopeful, and desirous.

Leaning back again, Harry bared his throat to Draco and let his face lie open to scrutiny. Draco gave him a searching look, and he could tell that the blond wanted and needed to be intimate with him just as much as he did, but they hadn't had sex for nearly two months, since before he'd left for the England training, and the blond might think of giving in as some sort of weakness.

"Please," he ventured. It was a whisper. "I'm all for you. Draco," he murmured, the name lost in the new onslaught of hot lips on his. Draco's warm hands parted his collar as his slid his own up the blonde's back, seeking skin-on-skin contact, grabbing in his haste. He mapped his shoulder blades and then released him quickly to tug the blonde's shirt over his head without bothering to undo the buttons. Draco stared down at him, panting, but didn't need to be coaxed into action again as he made for Harry's remaining buttons and parted his shirt to check him over. Harry felt himself flush. His torso was richly muscled and toned up from the more intensive England training.

"Did I buy you this?" Draco fingered his emerald shirt, feeling the soft material next to the tanned pectorals. The chain he had given Harry when they had first begun dating so many years ago was glinting at the base of his neck.

"I expect so."

"It looks… you look so…"

Harry pulled him down and gave him a heated look: "Then don't take it off me," he suggested, breathily, skimming his hands to Draco's hips before flipping the button and fly of his tailored trousers, moving to his own jeans and unzipping quickly. Draco sank his teeth into his collarbone and he panted harshly, struggling to rid himself of his lower garments without dislodging the blond. Draco shifted and looked down at him from within a curtain of silky locks, which Harry couldn't resist pulling his fingers through. Draco's face nuzzled into his palm as it passed, like a little kneazle. As if he had only just realised that Harry had been left naked apart from the open shirt, his eyes darkened down to aroused ink and a high rose painted his cheekbones and neck. Harry panted giddily, and parted his thighs to wrap one around Draco's waist, throwing the other over the low side of the couch.

"Harry, you can't…"

"Please," he pressed their foreheads together, eyes raw. "You don't make love to me anymore, Draco, why? I want this so much, I _need_ it; I need to feel you. I _love_ you."

Draco cast him a doubtful look. "But… you never ask me to."

"You never seem to want to top anymore," Harry countered. Draco didn't answer him, hiding his eyes with his tousled hair, trailing his long fingers on Harry's thighs, massaging lightly. Harry brushed the fringe away, prompting the blond to look at him. "Bit of a communication problem, maybe," he murmured, smiling ruefully.

"You have to get up and train tomorrow. Are you sure you want… I do want to, Harry. Oh god, so much."

Harry sat up so that they were propped up together with their legs wrapped around each other. "I …_ache_… to feel you in me, and for us to be back in our bed, in our sheets, just you and me together," he admitted, pressing their foreheads back together and stroking the bridge of the blonde's nose with the tip of his own. "Any way and however many times you want. You're my life, and the love of my life. I'm only for you, Draco."

Draco's mind flew reflexively to the hidden white envelope containing the explicit photographs that he'd never had the courage to look at properly, but couldn't quite throw away. But Harry's earnest expression was so hopeful, so open and so loving that the offensive images soon fled back behind their bars and he found himself pushing his nose into the soft shaggy black strands at the brunette's temple, his hands on muscled biceps, pectorals, abdomen and stroking down to the trail of soft pubic hairs that pointed like a dark little pathway to Harry's groin. They were kissing, and clinging, their lips so soft and their grasp so fierce.

Draco disentangled his legs and took some control of the situation, pulling himself and Harry to stand on the lounge floor. He let go of the dazed looking brunette in front of him to quickly finish slipping out of his trousers and undergarments, leaving them both naked save for Harry's shirt and both of their socks – a particularly unrefined combination, unnecessary in the soft shaggy pile of their expensive carpeting. Harry reached out and took his hand, regarding him with his head tilted curiously to the right. Draco looked him over silently for a few moments, noting the new hardness of Harry's muscles and the noticeable growth in them since the last time they had been fully naked together. The silky material of the green shirt made the brown strands of errant chest hair gleam, and he was half-hard, an amusing aesthetic.

Without releasing his hand, Harry dropped to his knees on the carpet and pressed two kisses to his hips, one either side of his own pale groin. Seeing his lover kneeling there, staring up at him as though a single command would give him the Seeker as his servant for whatever bidding he could conjure, eyes wide, and open and so green, Draco realised that no matter how hurt he was by Harry's actions, there was nothing that could overpower a sense of love quite like this. Falling out of love with Harry was something too hideous to even try to contemplate. He pulled him back to his feet, led him to their bedroom, and closed the door.

888

Please review, it has taken me almost a year to get round to putting this fic up, it has grown from a oneshot into something too long to be posted here in one go. I have nearly finished writing it. 'Under His Hands' was such a success I was hesitant to continue it, but I think this story can stand on its own. I am still editing the story, this evening was the first time I tried to split it into 'parts' for uploading so they're not really chapter breaks. I hope you enjoy it!


	2. Chapter 2

**My inbox has been going into overdrive after posting part one of this story, with almost 100 (!) people fave'ing, story altert'ing or author altert'ing... however, only TWO reviews. What the ?%*? Come on people, please give me something, it's not fair to writers for you to give them the alert button (late alone the 'fave' button!) without letting them know why you're doing it and what you liked! Reviews good and bad, constructive criticism, even flames, writers embrace it all! I'm having a lot of indecision editing part three for the millionth time right now. A bit of encouragement would sure be nice! **

**Ahem, end of plea. **

**Also, I clean forgot the disclaimer for this fic so let me give you one now for the whole story: Draco, Harry, Teddy, Andromeda and all other characters you might recognise from the Harry Potter books were not created by me, and I make absolutely no financial gain using them. Alex Cutteridge I'll keep - I'll wager he has a fit arse...**

* * *

><p><strong>PART TWO<strong>

Draco awoke by slow stages, encircled by warmth, a muscular pair of arms enfolding him back against a strong chest. Soft lips and the tip of a nose nuzzled at that spot on the back of his neck, provoking a purring wriggle.

"Hmmm… Harry?" He managed a mumble, before his face split into a satisfying yawn. "Ssss'time?"

A low chuckle was released into his ear: "Just gone half eight. I got away early for being good this morning. You've been a sleepyhead."

"Hmm," Draco twisted, and rolled onto Harry's chest, looking at him with one eye open. "I didn't even hear you leave this morning. I was dreaming about something… we should get ready to go to Hogwarts," he muttered, trying to disentangle himself and realising that Harry had removed his training gear and showered before coming back to bed. A muscled arm restrained him gently.

"Please, Draco, don't leave. We hardly ever get to spend Saturdays in bed together during the season. Make love to me, like you made love to me last night." His face was flushed and eager. Draco blinked until his eyes were clear from the last remnants of sleep, and gave him a sceptical look.

"Great shagging isn't going to fix what's happened," he said, baldly: "This isn't a little petty argument about what's for dinner, or even something bigger like trying to align our schedules or what to say to a nosey reporter! This _thing_ that's happened isn't something I can cope with! I think I have decisions laid out and then you come along and break them up. Just because we made love last night doesn't mean I'm not still going to move out."

He rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Harry was silent for so long that in the end Draco cocked his head to look at him. He was still half-sitting, with a frozen, helpless expression.

Draco sighed. "I'm not going to break up with you. You know I couldn't even if I wanted to. I do love you, Harry. But recently, it's like being introduced to a stranger. I think it will be better for … for our relationship, if I move in with Andromeda as planned. I'm getting hounded by the press, I can't sleep, I feel tense at work, and now this thing with Teddy… tell me you understand."

Harry reached over and gently pulled a couple of fingers through the soft hair at the blonde's temple. "I think I understand," he began, earnestly, "and I don't want to be a stranger, Draco. I love you, and I've done something so disgusting to you I can't stand thinking about it, it makes me sick, and I don't want us to feel horrible. Everything is my fault, and I'm trying to fix it any way I know how… but the problem is I _don't_ know how. I'm not going to try to stop you moving out… I'm glad you told me where. I'll ask Janet to try to do something about the press… get a holding bar or something. If I could just…"

"What?"

"I…" Harry glanced away, hot rivulets of tears trickling over his cheekbones. "I'm sorry, I was going to ask if I could hold you, that's what we always do when one of us is upset, and now it's not…"

Draco rolled into his side and pulled so that Harry's forehead was on his collarbone, tears wetting his naked chest. He wrapped his arms around his waist securely and rubbed his cheek against the wayward black thatch before kissing him softly on the back on an ear. "Don't cry, we can't start over if we're crying and screaming all the time," he joked, trying to inject a little humour into the bad situation. He felt Harry's facial muscles jump and smiled, pressing one hand down the curving slide of Harry's spine and massaging the sinewy muscle patterns. He felt Harry's hand creep round the back of his thigh and knead it slowly, working up to the swell of his buttock, evoking a low thrum of arousal, gradually building until it manifested itself in a full-body shudder that ran right through him from head to toe. Harry rose up and looked at him. Draco leant upwards and captured his mouth. They hovered for a long moment. Harry's lips tasted of saltwater and sweet saliva, and he smelled so good. So Harry.

Despite himself, he shifted into a position he knew that Harry would accept instantly as a signal to feast on him – he needed no mirror to show him that lust had painted his eyes a dark ink, and the buzz in his brain that longed for release was overwhelming him swiftly. Age had dimmed his sensory reactions, no longer leaving him effectively helpless to his lover's ministrations before the first release – with Draco there were always many, and Harry had been the only lover to never take unfair advantage of that. His breaths came in short puffs between their frequently connecting lips, transcending to breathy pants when Harry moved to the underside of his jaw and the outline of his Adam's Apple, his foot skilfully finding Draco's under the covers and caressing the sole. The world spun and he found himself over the brunette instead, gazing giddily down into a bright emerald haze.

"Draco-" he cut him off with another intense kiss, not wanting to hear Harry having to plead with him for love again. They squirmed together in the tangled sheets, getting into more comfortable positions. Harry's laugh shocked him into a jaw-cracking grin as he rained an unnecessary amount of condoms on his furred chest. Their coupling was intense and emotional, but lacking the urgency of the night before, their eyes locked, Harry's built thighs encircling his own fragile waist. He braced himself on one of the brunette's biceps, noting the increased muscle mass from the England training. Their spines arched in near-simultaneous ecstasy.

Draco rested his forehead on Harry's shoulder, echoing his laboured breaths as they came down from the trembling high. He felt the Seeker shift his legs out of their cramped position and kick the remaining stifling sheets away from them. He tried to speak, and released a growling purr, pushing his hand along his lover's chest and smoothed the quivering muscles under his fingertips. Being joined in such an intimate way with Harry was always like discovering another half of himself that he didn't miss until he was found again. Sighing, he slipped out of him and quickly went through the familiar after-motions of banishing the condom and flicking a couple of gentle cleaning charms at them before rolling back into his beloved's arms.

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"I do love you."

He wriggled into Harry's side. "I know."

"When did you plan to go to Andromeda's?"

"Not until we've seen Teddy. He needs to know what's going on… he might want to spend Christmas with her instead of us, and we don't know the full story about what's happening at school… I was thinking that maybe we should both eat dinner at her house tonight. She needs to be prepared for the press, and she'll be worrying about what's happening with our relationship… um…"

"It's coming up to half eleven, shall I make us some brunch, you – you can p-pack?"

"Thank you," Draco leaned up and kissed him lingeringly, "that would be perfect. This isn't forever. I promise you that. I just don't know how long it will be."

Harry nodded and kissed him on the forehead. It made him close his eyes in contentment.

888

Draco leant in the doorway, watching Harry cook their brunch. It was hard to think that only the previous evening he had felt so aggravated by his lover that he couldn't even bring himself to enjoy a lovely meal he had cooked. That for an entire fortnight he'd been able to discipline himself not to speak, see or hold him… the thought of separation made him insides churn. Harry turned suddenly, feeling the heat of his gaze on his back, and gave him an apprehensive look.

"You look lovely," he ventured. Draco smiled, brushing the hair away from his face. He knew he looked good, if slightly intimidating – he wanted to be firm, solid, when they met with Teddy. A proud man, a good father, and certainly not weak by forgiving Harry… he hoped that Harry wouldn't read quite so many things into it. The brunette was underdressed in tatty jeans and bare skin, waiting his turn in the shower.

"You look savage," he returned, cheekily, crossing the kitchen and sliding a hand up Harry's back, who returned his attention to the hob whilst he kneaded his shoulder blades. "Hmm… scrambled eggs. Where's the salmon?"

Harry laughed. It looked lovely on his profile, prompting Draco to kiss his ear lightly. "There's no salmon, Lord Malfoy, but there's toast, grilled mushrooms, and a couple of rashers of bacon."

Draco eyed the sizzling strips dubiously. "Harry, not - not too many."

Harry banged the egg whisk against the inside of the pan, but said nothing. Draco moved away and began setting the table. It was an age-old argument with them: Draco insisted that he needed to eat less than Harry, as Harry was on a constant fitness regime. He (not so secretly) worried inside that Harry would be disgusted if he put on any weight. Harry had always disputed this, arguing that if he was allowed to eat fois gras and butter biscuits during Quidditch season, he would without hesitation. It would not be the first time that he had considered a media-stressed Draco to be erring a little on the side of too thin.

They ate their breakfast in silence. For his part, Draco finished his bacon, and Harry made sure to smile at him when he collected the plate.

888

It was grey and drizzly with rain in Hogsmeade when they apparated in. Andromeda was already waiting for them by Hogwarts' main gates, sheltered by an enormous green umbrella, and wearing Wellington boots. Students were milling back and forth on their way to or from the village, making the most of their day out by stamping through the puddles. A couple of more sensible girls picked their way past, their heads surrounded by the lingering steam indicative of a dose of pepper-up potion. Draco and Andromeda embraced awkwardly, the umbrella at a clumsy angle. She gave Harry a very stern look before patting him on the arm as well. They set off through the gates and down the long, winding entryway. The castle loomed ahead of them, and for the first time it looked to Harry to be forbidding.

"Bloody Scotland," Draco was muttering beside him, "I should've checked the weather forecast." He cast an impervious charm on his shoes. Harry clenched and unclenched his fingers self-consciously, wishing that Draco would hold his hand, but it seemed that the blond was determined to remain latched to Andromeda's arm. He felt unsettled and extremely nervous in anticipation of Teddy and what his reaction to him might be. For the first time, he felt genuinely unfit to be a parent.

They met McGonagall on the main steps and shook hands. The tight nod she afforded Harry only served to make him feel worse, guilty of all the people he had let down. He trudged up the myriad staircases to her office as though en route to detention, and looked at no one who passed them. The office itself had definitely taken on a different scheme since Dumbledore's death, the product of a rather offensive obsession with tartan, which covered all the chairs, and even the circular rug in the centre of them.

Draco and Andromeda took the only small couch, so Harry became isolated in a hard-backed armchair. He glanced at Draco and noticed the extreme straightness of his posture. His throat prickled and he rubbed the palms of his hands nervously on his jeans. Somewhere, he knew, Teddy was waiting to come in. He wasn't sure what sort of reception he should steel himself for.

"Fighting is a very serious business, especially when it comes to physical blows," the Headmistress was saying. Harry forced himself to pay attention. "However I've called you in not because of the severity of this attack, although there can be no denying it _was_ severe, but because this is so _completely_ out of character for Theodore. I regret that I had no idea he was being bullied. I can't impress upon you how serious the situation is, not least because, unfortunately, your own positions in the public eye make it more likely for the school to be accused of favouritism if any recurrent behaviour goes unpunished."

"But he's being bullied!" Draco interjected, angrily, half out of his seat and looking distraught, "I want to know who the culprits are!"

"There are two sides to this, Mr Malfoy, the side that has to acknowledge these bullies and their inflictions on your son, which I believe are mainly of a vocal nature, and therefore technically non-life threatening, and the outcome of this, which is the medical attention of said boys from wounds inflicted at his hand. I understand-"

"Teddy wouldn't hurt anyone! He is being victimised by these other boys! I can only imagine what they've been saying to him… where is he?" Draco was on his feet. Harry felt his own throat constrict at the pain etched on his lover's face. "Please, Headmistress, I…"

McGonagall pursed her lips briefly and shook her head. "You may come in now, Theodore," she called out, loudly. Harry spun in his seat and stared wildly at the door that had just opened, his heart in his mouth. The boy in the doorway was undeniably Teddy, and a Teddy at his most Malfoy in appearance – his hair was morphed so blonde it was just shy of white, and even his facial features seemed to have sharpened. He looked a great deal like a 16-year old Draco.

"Oh Teddy, oh my _boy_," Draco said in a hushed voice. He approached him hesitantly, and then drew him into his arms. "Why didn't you _tell_ me you were being bullied?" he demanded, shaking him slightly whilst at the same time holding him as closely as he could. "We could have stopped it!"

Harry licked his lips, and stood up, still standing back a little. In the past years since Teddy had come to live with them and their relationship had become even more father-son, he could not deny that the child had been able to grow closer to Draco than to himself. The long stints of training, away matches and demanding schedule made it more difficult for them to spend as much quality time together. Teddy had even begun to look a great deal more like Draco, going blonde often in public, although his original features were undeniably more Lupin-esque. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the Headmistress slip into the next room to afford their group a little privacy.

"Tell me what's going on," Draco was saying now, insistent but gentle. Teddy's cheek returned to his shoulder, trustingly, and Harry felt a surge of envy. "What have these boys been saying to you?"

"Nothing dad, really…"

"It's not 'nothing'! Come on Ted, you've never been the type of boy to start pummelling people!"

"It's, um," Teddy was mumbling, and Harry ventured a little closer to catch the words, "it s-started, they wanted to know about being a Morphmagus, and if I can make myself into a girl… and loads of things about you and dad, and being gay, and if I was gay, and I'm _not_ – sorry – and they kept asking me about coming home and if I'd ever f-found you, you know, _at it_, and they were just going on and on and I just wanted them to shut _up_! And they wouldn't and one of them said he'd p-pay me to m-make myself into a girl – I – please don't ask me about it anymore…" he convulsed into mewling sobs onto Draco's shoulder again, Harry's arms around them both by this time. Harry caught a glimpse of Draco's horrified, panic-stricken face before it was hidden again in the blond strands of Teddy's hair. He thought he might throw up.

"Those boys are sick, and disgusting, but they are _jealous_ of you, Ted," Harry said, firmly. Teddy's tear-streaked face turned to him briefly before he hid himself again, but Harry knew he was listening. "In their eyes you have everything they could ever want for a perfect life, okay? You have this amazing transformative power without having to learn it, you're intelligent and outgoing, and you've got great friends in your House. And yeah, although we complain about it, they don't know what it's like to have famous parents. For all they know you've got every gadget going and have dinner with your favourite band every night. They see it all laid out in the papers and they're going to get jealous, and that's what makes them want to lash out."

"You'd know all about – about – _f-fucking_ – papers, wouldn't you dad?" Teddy spat, shoving him away, "they might've left me alone!"

"I know, I totally cocked up, I'm sorry," Harry confessed, running a hand through his hair, "I've let you both down terribly, and I know it's going to take a long time to fix it. But the fact is, Ted, I do love you, and I do love your dad. I love you both very much and I was a total idiot. Please, I – I'm sorry, Ted."

Teddy turned away from him slightly. "You never even owled."

"I know, and that was cowardly of me."

"Let's sit down, hey?" Draco guided them both to the couch, where Teddy took the seat next to Andromeda, who gave him a disapproving look –

"An owl from the Headmistress herself, Theodore!" she scolded, "you're not too old to take over my knee! Put your appearance to rights this minute!"

"Sorry Gran," Teddy muttered, his face and hair instantly morphing into his own again. Andromeda fingered a chestnut lock ruefully and straightened his tie for him. He grinned shyly at her before pressing his shoulder against hers.

Harry had taken the stiff armchair again, and to his surprise Draco perched on the arm. "I know you've probably been feeling very isolated from us, so maybe we'd better talk about what's been happening at home while you've been at school." He paused and wet his lips for a moment. His hand was dangling over the arm towards Harry's lap, so he took hold of it and gave it a squeeze, picking up where Draco had hesitated:

"Your dad thinks, and we have made an agreement, that it will be best for us to live separately for a while. Not – not long, and not permanently-"

Draco nodded, and said, "Right."

"- and it will be me at home and your dad at gran's house, so we'll both be right where you can find us, or owl us, any time." He rubbed the blonde's knuckles gently with his thumb and continued: "I do love your dad, Ted, very much. I can't repeat that enough. Obviously I have been very idiotic and I hope in time you will both forgive me… there are some things going on with me I need to be able to talk to your dad about, emotional things, and work things, and it will probably be better for us to have separate places to retreat to if we want that. I _am_ sorry for not owling you though," he confessed, meeting's Teddy's gaze, "I'm so ashamed of myself, I don't want to be like that for you-" his throat constricted and he had to swallow before continuing, "I want to be your dad, your – your confidant. I know I'm not as accessible as Draco sometimes but I always thought you could turn to me, that you – God, Ted, I'm so sorry that this happened."

There was silence for a long moment. Draco forcibly unclenched his hand, realising he now had Harry's clutched in a death-grip. He took a deep breath, all the while wondering what exactly Harry needed to confide to him, other than the glaring obvious. He exhaled slowly and breathed again before speaking: "We can't forget the other reason to be here today. I need to know that you're going to be alright to be back in lessons with these boys, otherwise, I'm going to ensure we get something arranged with McGonagall."

"You can't do that!" Teddy was indignant: "They already think I'm a pampered celebrity kid! Please, you're just going to make it worse!"

Harry heard Draco expel an almost soundless noise of anxiety, and stroked his hand again, their fingers hidden by the chair arm and Draco's thigh.

"I can't leave this as it is," Draco said quietly. "These boys are thugs, and what they said to you is more than disgusting. And I know it's partly our fault-"

"No it isn't!"

"It is," he shook his head, "it's not like you asked to be adopted by a couple of blokes."

"You're not 'a couple of blokes,' you're my cousin and my godfather! My… _parents_." Teddy looked distressed and pink. Andromeda put an arm around him tightly, but they could see him trembling.

"Draco," Harry murmured, giving his hand another squeeze before releasing him. He knew his lover would take the unspoken hint and go to reassure their son immediately, and he did so.

"Ted," Draco said, voice slightly strangled as he squatted down next to the couch, "you know we love being your parents. Adopting you and sharing that between us has been the most important moment in our lives, I can tell you that unequivocally. I'm sorry if you misunderstood me. What I meant is, for some students here the idea of having two dads is always going to be not only a subject of mockery, but probably some fear too. They don't understand the dynamic of our family, and maybe they're disgusted by it too. You and I know how stupid that is, but for some of them, when they're ribbing you about it… secretly they want to know the real answers. And they get nasty about it because it's far easier to make fun of something they're afraid of. I don't want to leave you in a position where you have to keep taking this from them. It shouldn't have to be this way."

They hugged, and Harry felt a pang of unease again, unsure whether it was okay to join in. In the end he stayed in the chair, fiddling with the ends of his cuffs. "It _is_ this way," Teddy was saying, "But they might let up now that we're all in detention for the rest of forever. I'm sorry, you told me to be a good Prefect and already…"

"Don't you be sorry," Draco said firmly, cupping his son's face intently, "I don't approve of the way you dealt with it, but they are the perpetrators, _not you_, okay? Don't think you've left any of us down in that regard. You haven't." He sat back on his heels, releasing him. "What do you want us to say to the Headmistress?"

Teddy shrugged, "nothing, she can't do much anyway besides stick us in detention. I don't want to change classes just for _them_ either." He had the steely, determined look that reminded Harry so much of Remus, and his heart swelled slightly with pride of that fact.

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It was already past eight in the evening when they finally fell out of the Floo at Andromeda's house, and Harry was flagging slightly, any adrenaline gone. After the conversation with Teddy, which had been emotionally exhausting in itself, Andromeda and Teddy had retired to the antechamber while McGonagall put himself and Draco through a grilling not only on their son's behaviour and what she expected of him, but also their own relationship to some degree. She wasn't inappropriately invasive, but it was certainly uncomfortable. They had filled her in on the temporary living arrangements and oddly her approval had relaxed Harry somewhat.

For the rest of the afternoon, as it was still a Hogsmeade weekend, they were allowed special permission to take Teddy there for lunch, although this was somewhat curtailed by the necessity of securing a private room in one of the lesser known establishments for them, avoiding both autograph hunters, protesters and above all any lurking press. During the meal the conversation had moved into far more enjoyable subjects such as imminent try-outs for the Ravenclaw quidditch team, and Teddy's first two weeks of his OWL subjects. Harry had watched him fondly, taking note of all the animated mannerisms, and laughing out loud when he had briefly morphed his nose to explain exactly what their newest Astronomy professor's nickname referred to.

"I've put you in the Yellow Bedroom dear, the one you like on the second floor," Andromeda was saying, breaking Harry out of his reverie. Draco's two small trunks had been apparated over by Kreacher and stood at the foot of the stairs. "The study opposite is quite clear; I think it'll make a good space to do your paperwork in if you need it."

"Thanks Aunt," Draco gave her a hug but was looking quite sombre.

"I'll start the dinner if we're to be sitting down before midnight," she said, adding, "I take it you're both eating?"

"Yes, thank you," Draco said. Harry looked at him as Andromeda disappeared down the hall. He took one case and started up the stairs, and Harry quickly picked up the other and followed him, heart thudding.

The Yellow Bedroom was warm and welcoming, and they had often stayed in it, sometimes for a week during Christmas, and for even longer periods back in the days before they had adopted Teddy. Draco was sitting on the bed when Harry entered, the case on the floor next to him.

"Sit with me."

They ended up lying together on the large mattress, facing each other. Draco appeared to be scrutinising his face for differences. "I want to set some ground rules," he said eventually, "firstly; you don't sleep here with me unless I ask you to."

Harry swallowed nervously. "Alright."

"Secondly, that we don't have sex in Aunt's house. Third, I continue to give your appointments at work to Greg for the time being unless you have a serious injury. Fourth… fourth, please don't see him."

Harry sat up. "I have no intention of seeing him!"

"I know you, Harry. You say that now but soon you'll read something about him in the paper, hear a rumour, whatever, and you'll say, 'Aren't I Alex's friend? I should see him.' Please don't argue with me, just say - promise me not to see him. Not to speak to him."

Harry leant and kissed his jaw, softly. "I will gladly swear to that. Draco… they were only kisses, and they meant nothing. I don't want him."

Draco felt himself go entirely rigid, ice filling his insides. He found himself suddenly by the window, and despite the frozen state of his heart, lungs and guts he couldn't get the window open fast enough to let the cold September night air in. He couldn't breathe through his shock at the lie. He panicked before realising he was hyperventilating and needed to calm down. How he managed this, he didn't know; perhaps it was magic.

"Draco, hey-"

He turned quickly, taut to defend, and reared like a challenged cat: "Five. _Don't you dare fucking lie to me again_."

"What? Draco, I'm not lying-"

"Go. Go before I _banish_ you." His wand was in his hand, how did it get there? Harry was staring at him, how could he stand there like that? "GET OUT!" The bedside lamp exploded and the entire house went dark. He heard Andromeda screech below him. When he had managed a _reparo_ and the electrics had righted themselves, Harry was no longer there.

He sat on the edge of the bed, still carrying Harry's indentation, too tired to cry.

888

Harry half-lay awkwardly on the hard surface he'd landed on, breathing hard where his hasty apparition had set him, outside their wards. It took his a couple of moments to realise what he was sitting on: their front step. He hastily leapt up and fumbled with his key before any lurking reporters could get him. His body hurt, veins thrumming through him from the effort of apparating through Andromeda's wards. He shut the front door firmly and leant against it, eyes tightly shut.

So, Draco knew he had slept with Alex. How? He hadn't said anything.

'Because you should've admitted it without being asked, coward,' he thought, mercilessly. Blindly, he stumbled to the floo and threw a large handful of dust in, shouting "Draco, Draco!" urgently. His head looked out of Andromeda's hearth into the cosy parlour. He could hear a murmur of voices near the door. "Draco, please!"

"He doesn't want to see you dear." Andromeda's normally kindly face appeared in his range of sight. "I think it's best you both get some rest, and we need to eat some dinner."

"Please," Harry said, helplessly; miserably. He didn't know what to do.

"Harry," she had a firm expression, "stay apart tonight. I don't want to have to persuade him to eat."

Harry inhaled, mind racing. "Right. No, of course you're right." And then he was looking at the inside of his own fireplace: Andromeda had cut the connection off. He sat on the carpet he had made love to Draco to so many times on, and cried. He did not eat dinner that night.

888

_We've come too far we can't turn back  
>Have our good days, have our bad<br>When I'm feeling blue  
>You say that I'm hurting you<br>We try so hard not to fight  
>But sometimes we cross the line<br>And I wanna leave  
>But you<br>Won't let me  
>We have our highs and lows<br>Just like everybody else  
>Doesn't mean that we walk away<br>We work through our mistakes_

Sometimes I love you  
>Sometimes I don't<br>But I never ever  
>Never want to let you go<br>The road's not easy  
>But the feeling's strong<br>It's the little things that keep me holding on

We're both guilty of mistakes  
>Though you rarely take the blame<br>Are you coming through  
>Sometimes<br>I hate you  
>But it's not mistakes in life you make<br>It's the good you do along the way  
>The dues you pay<p>

We have our highs and lows  
>Something everybody knows<br>Doesn't mean that we run away  
>We work through our mistakes<p>

_**Gabrielle, 'Sometimes'.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Please review, that'd be grand! <strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

**PART THREE**

For the next thirteen days Harry found his path blocked at every turn in his attempts to see or speak to Draco. He was always either in a meeting, or out of the office, or conducting a physical, or engaged in a massage appointment (Harry wondered whether the rest of the team were taking them daily, there certainly seemed to be no shortage of work for Draco). And when he wasn't at work, he was holed up in Andromeda's house, and unavailable for him to see him, which she told him repeatedly, each time sounding more wearied by their drama than the last.

He awoke at night, jerked awake by his own hyperventilating, unaware that only a few miles away Draco was doing the same. On the fourteenth night, he sat up, running his hands through his hair, a few silver and black strands coming away with them. He needed to formulate a plan, a plan to win back Draco and prove his love for him. But how did you prove love? Sitting in bed, alone without Draco, was even worse than the acute loneliness he always endured on those long training stints. Harry had always known there was that overriding 'family man' element inside him, the element that left him cold from the expected revelries of his teammates. The conflicting thoughts had a harsh irony that was not lost on him in the slightest; he felt panicked to know that in a short year and a half he would be contractually obliged to retire from the professional game, and yet infinitely relieved that he would no longer need to battle his insane schedule for time spent with Draco and Teddy.

He padded down the hall to one of their guest bedrooms, and got comfortable sitting against the headboard; he knew he wouldn't get to sleep again before he needed to be up at half four, so instead he conjured a cup of camomile tea and settled down to indulge in one of his secret retirement fantasies. He knew he ought to share them with Draco, but he had never wanted to jinx the possibilities. Now, he began to seriously consider whether letting him in on them might be a good method of winning him back.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his imagination to build the wishful image he had held in his mind ever since Teddy's sixth birthday, the birthday they had introduced the boy to Draco as Harry's 'special friend,' and a potential second father…

…_It was nearly two in the morning, and Harry awoke to the soft murmur of the baby monitor beside the bed. He rolled onto his back and found that Draco's side of the bed was creased and rumpled, but unoccupied. He must have already risen to tend the baby; he wasn't as good at sleeping through the snuffles as Harry. A year ago, Harry would have been unable to go to them, knowing he needed to get as much sleep as possible, but he was retired now, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Not bothering with a robe, he snuck into the adjoining room to catch Draco being soppy. _

_As predicted, Draco was in the rocking chair, his eyes drowsily half-closed; their baby's nose snuffling into his neck. Every so often, a soothing hum or soft clucking escaped his throat. _

"_Hey," Harry stood behind him, smoothing the wayward blond strands off his warm forehead, "how long have you been up?"_

"_Not long," Draco's face turned into his hand and nuzzled a kiss there. "He's a tetchy boy." _

"_Want to bring him to our bed?"_

"_I don't want to move him, he's cranky. I heard Ted wake up but I think he's gone back to bed."_

"_I don't think I remember him coming in," Harry joked, tempted to look in on their eighteen-year-old son but holding himself back; Ted needed privacy from them at least _some_ of the time now he'd left school… _

Harry left himself fade out of the fantasy before he could get too wrapped up in it. Sometimes he had long, full-blown half hours of fantasies like this one while he was in his office, supposedly dealing with his accounts, fan mail, charity responsibilities, and so forth. Sometimes, in his fantasy future they had a baby, by surrogate or adoption he never really worked through… sometimes they had a toddler, or even a young teenager, instead of a baby. The only fixed element was that the child was usually a boy, like Teddy, and in every fantasy he could imagine Draco in 'dad' mode – a trait that had only grown in him over their years of parenting Teddy… a trait Harry would readily admit he found especially appealing.

He had been holding out venturing the topic of more children with Draco for years now. It wasn't that he thought the blond would say an outright no, but the mere possibility of a negative response had left him too afraid to brook the subject. He knew that thirty-four was a very young retirement age, and suspected that he would enter some other element of the quidditch community when his playing days were done, but it was a perfect age for expanding a family. Watching Teddy's growing predilection for morphing himself into a mini-Draco only heightened his desire to raise more children with the man.

He sighed and leant his head against the headboard, trying to sort his tangled thoughts. This was his mess to deal with, and just waiting around for Draco to contact him was obviously not the best plan of action. He leant over and rifled in the bedside drawers, looking for a pen and paper. They always kept a handy biro or two around because Harry usually preferred them to a quill and ink, finding the unused remnants of an ordinary muggle jotter-pad in there as well. He wrote several drafts of his letter throughout the night, satisfied with it by around four o'clock. He got up and changed into his training gear, leaving himself time for a glass of water, energy bar and a handful of multivitamin supplements.

As he sat at the kitchen table, he unfolded the letter and read it back to himself for the last time:

_Dear Draco, _

_I can't tell you how many versions this letter has gone through. You were right, we do live as though married, and we have done for the past decade. In my soul I think of you as my husband, all the time – do you? I have never felt closer to any other person than I have to you; you know every aspect of my heart. But I realise that with time I also stopped talking over all of the most important stuff with you, maybe because I thought you would telepathically pick up on anything there is to say between us, or, more likely, because I got lazy. It's probably the latter, in fact I know it is, so here are a few things I should have been telling you over the past year or so, that maybe I haven't: _

_Firstly, I love you. When I wake up next to you in the morning I can't believe that you're mine. But I've been getting complacent, taking it for granted even. That's no good. This separation has taught me that lesson the hard way – and believe me it's been __hard__. I promise you, right here, in writing, I will never take having you for granted again. You are the only man I have ever fallen in love with, and I am still completely in love with you. Remember what we said after meeting again 12 years ago? Every moment in my life has been a journey to help me be with you. Well I still believe that. It sounds trite, even a bit cringey in writing (especially my handwriting) but sometimes I feel like the love we have together, that's what powers me through everything else. _

_Because of this love, I need to tell you some other things I've found it hard to say. The way I feel about us at work is different than it used to be. I know it sounds petty and jealous, but I have been finding it progressively more difficult to watch you tending to the other players, especially since Rhys joined the team. A part of me was happy to have another out player around to take the focus of me. It stopped me from being the team's poster boy of 'gay' equality. I know it's irrational, but watching you tend to another man, just as fit as me but at least 5 years younger, makes me feel so tense, so …crazy. It is crazy. I know you would never do anything to hurt me, I have never questioned your fidelity to me, maybe it's the other bloke I don't trust, I don't know. Even in writing I just can't explain what it is that makes me feel like this… clenched resentfulness. _

_I know you are going to hate reading the above, and it's only going to prove more that I'm round the bend, but you deserve to know that I'm feeling that. You have no idea how hard it's been for me to be palmed off these past days, while you tend to any of the other players but me. It wouldn't say 'it's killing me,' but it definitely hurts like hell. _

_The other thing I need to talk to you about is the World Cup Trials. I've found it too embarrassing to talk to you about how much I hate them. It's pretty cowardly but maybe if I start in a letter it'll be easier to talk about it in person later. It's not that I hate the trials themselves, although I find the time they take away from me being with you and Ted hard, not least because they take up so much of the school holidays. In terms of the sport they're a blast, a chance to show off, for lack of a better term, and to immerse yourself with your particular role in the game. Especially this year, my last. _

_But there are things I don't enjoy about it too, and for the past 3 trials (6 years, god) they have progressively outweighed the good. _

_The loneliness. I can't stand it. It drives me mad, the secrecy they enforce, no one on or off the island, no outside contact, for the entire try-out period. Being trapped on an island of players, coaches, and assorted reporters (usually out to get gossip on the players rather than the sport), is definitely not my idea of a good time. _

_No one talks to me. I'm so sorry I never talked to you about this. It's too… embarrassing I guess. Imagine you're a Seeker or Reserve Seeker, and you're trying out to nab one of the 2 Seeking positions to play for England next year. And there's Harry Potter, he's big news even without Quidditch: scar, fame, 'hero' status, got the 'gay' vote, and constantly plastered on a tabloid. It doesn't matter how well they perform, he's got it in the bag without even kicking off from the ground. For the past 2 trials, no other Seeker spoke a willing word to me. I was already separated from you, and now the group of people I'd be spending pretty much all my time with for a month wouldn't speak to me on principle. _

_I know this will hurt you, but Alex changed that for me. We were friends, proper friends and he had a firm hold in our social group despite the age differences. I liked him and I think you did too. I liked going out for dinner with him and his boyfriends – I think I liked showing him that you and I were a brilliant example of a long term, committed relationship, and how happy we were – I especially liked showing that off. To everyone. At the trials, he was there for the first time, he'd been put forward for England by the Tornadoes, and being the veteran on it I made it my duty to show him the ropes of the process. He was one of the only people in our set to regularly talk to me. _

_This is so hard to write. _

_He was kind to me. Just kind to me. He asked me how I was feeling when I was down, and told me it was okay when I was missing you and Ted. He was a friend of both of us, I thought, so he understood. Then he kissed me, and I was confused and a little angry. But – I can't write this but I have to – I felt how much he wanted me, and I started wanting, not him, not exactly, but something. I know that I crave closeness with people, but that's no excuse for what happened. I felt sick and guilty but very curious too – curious enough not to push him away when it happened a second time. I hate myself for the excuse but I was drunk that night, so drunk, and miserable. In hindsight I know I should have gone to bed, slept it off, and told myself I would be seeing you again in a couple of days and everything would be right again. _

_I remember shapes, confusion, clothing, the noise of our breathing. I think maybe I remember some pain. I woke up with alone with a crippling headache, and as I rolled over to heave over the side of the bed, two used condoms on the floor. I'm so, so sorry. I couldn't say it out loud to you. But I think we did sleep together. I know we did. The evidence was all over me, and I feel so ashamed for lying to you… _

888

Draco pressed his palm against the pocket with Harry's letter in it, forcibly preventing his fingers from trembling.

It was the fourth game of the season, Brinsbourne Beaters versus Holyhead Harpies, and Harry had been benched for the first time in two years. The last time had been due to a rather severe injury. This time around, it was down to inattention and poor direction on the training pitch. Rhys, the second Seeker, was starting for the first time, and Draco (and everyone else on the team) knew that Harry would be feeling utterly humiliated. He slid into the team room with the rest of the trainers and Greg, his apprentice physio, keeping to the back of the group. The room was already buzzing with pre-match excitement and Brookes, the captain, was winding down his pep talk. Wandersley would already be outside sitting in the managers' box.

He nestled himself slightly between two racks of spare jackets, the standard fare in case the weather took a nasty turn. It was a home match, thankfully, which meant he could escape to the relative peace of his own office the moment the match ended. There was a pervading smell of leather balm and broom polishes in this room, underlain with sweat and shower scum. A heap of used towels spilled from the laundry bins, and more would no doubt join them later. It was only when one of the ball boys rushed in with an unwelcome announcement that he realised how lost in his own thoughts he had become:

"Tornadoes are in the stands sir." Addressing the head trainer, but with an obvious implication. Draco stiffened, and turning his head slightly, unwillingly, found Harry staring straight back into his face. They began filing out. Harry, and the other back-ups, would be bringing up the rear.

"Draco." Low voice.

"Harry."

"Draco, the letter-"

"After the match. Please." Alex would be out there. Alex, Harry, himself and a barrage of greedy press waiting for their moment. Draco breathed in slowly: this was his job, and he was good at it, damn it, and – he stretched his fingers backwards for just a tiny moment and brushed the tips of Harry's fingers – and he had something they all wanted. He had this, even now.

888

It was strange, watching a match from the benches with Harry. Of course, Draco was always confined to the benches. They could be a cold place to sit, hard even with the benefit of a precautionary cushioning charm, and so isolated from both the action above and the screaming hordes behind. Half had booed horribly as they traversed the pitch, and Draco ached, knowing it was for Harry; even now the bad press coated him like a spilt vat of bubotuber pus. But a part of him, a large part, felt somewhat vindicated by their support – the victor of public affection. A part of him felt that Harry deserved that hatred. As soon as that thought flashed through his head, he hated himself for it.

The barrage of flashbulbs from the vultures lurking in the pit beside the pitch boundary nearly blinded them, and he tried hard to ignore the shouts imploring him to look their way. It would not be professional to do so. He smoothed over the letter in his pocket again, checking, checking. He knew he should have locked it in his office desk drawer, but hadn't been able to let it out of his sight. In over ten years, never had Harry rung so many emotions from him at once. It was overwhelming and more than a little terrifying given that they were completely surrounded on all sides by paparazzi.

He finally turned his eye to Harry's face again when they were settled on the bench, and it was only then that he realised the shock and pain consuming his lover's entire being. His right hand rested on the seat between them, and he took it without thinking. Only Harry's expression of happy surprise, of gratitude, served to highlight the magnitude of what should be a trivial action between them.

"I've read it," he murmured, wanting to give something, something to absolve his earlier spite at the jeers falling on the brunette head. "We can't discuss it here."

The match was angry from the outset, and play was very fast. He soon found himself dropping Harry's hand and administering aid to a continual stream of their players. One of the back-up Chasers was subbed in almost immediately. Then, twenty minutes in almost to the second, Rhys fell. Brookes called time, and Harry started warming up again immediately. Draco rushed to the fallen player, turning him carefully whilst simultaneously running diagnostic spells. No one took a Bludger that close and flew off again quickly. He cast a stasis charm and levitated the Seeker's prone body onto a stretcher before addressing the hovering teammates. "Harry's up," he announced, and without pause they began quickly moving back into formation. The sooner the bloody game ended the better. "Win for me," he murmured, almost on a whim, as Harry passed him.

"I always do."

888

He knew Harry was looking for him after the match, all hope and exhilaration from the win, but he had hidden himself in one of the antechambers down from his office, too scared to continue the promised conversation about the letter. Instead of apparating to his Aunt's, he took himself away to a sheltered spot along the Thames, where he knew there was a tiny café, and ordered a small cappuccino while he smoothed the last page out on the table and read the last three paragraphs again, and then again.

The middle of October was always marked by the grand Quidditch Association Ball, where the awards from the previous season were presented, and he knew without a doubt that Harry would be there. After all, he was presenting one of the awards, he'd helped him write and practice the speech enough times before Harry had left for the England training. The Ball was usually one of their favourite annual events, but now he toyed with his coffee cup and wondered whether he should go. He knew that his lover would still be hurting terribly from the ire of the crowd that afternoon, even despite his win. And despite himself, he wanted to be there as a support, even if he arrived with someone else.

With a murmured oath, he roused himself, tucking the letter back into his pocket, and paid his bill before walking a little way from the café and apparating to Blaise's town house in Richmond. It was the last place Harry would have liked him to go for comfort, he knew, but a familiar face was what he wanted at that moment.

The QA had outdone themselves this year, Draco had to admit as he accepted a thin champagne flute from a passing waitress and found a leaning spot with a good view of the press barrier. The grand hall of the converted stately home that housed the main offices had been cleared of the usual business-like accoutrements, the wooden floor polished to a gleam so high that reflections of the white spotlights reflected dazzlingly back into their faces. Tasteful dark blue canopies rippled overhead, concealing the high ceiling without suffocating the crowd, and a high stage had been erected with steps on either side. For once there seemed to be a good ratio of chairs to floor space, something he was very grateful of. He had arrived unfashionably early to avoid coming after Harry, and patted his side pocket again although he knew he had left the letter behind; he certainly didn't want a reporter getting hold of that.

"Relax Dray," a hand brushing his elbow jerked him out of his daze so abruptly that he nearly upended his champagne on Blaise, who lifted an eyebrow at him. "He might now even show up. Look at them," he nodded at the press, one of whom was jostling the line so badly that he almost dropped his camera onto the blue carpet that had been laid out. "They'll get just as good a story without him showing."

"He'll be here. He has to present the award for lifetime achievement." Draco licked his lips nervously, waving away a tray of canapés that was coming too close. He had managed not to eat all day, and wasn't about to give up that control as well.

"Wait," Blaise snagged a couple of daintily stacked canapés and popped them both in his mouth at once, unmindful of Draco's discomfort. "Have I told you yet that you look great? You do, you look like sex on a stick, Potter won't be able to contain himself."

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"Blaise." He turned slightly away, smelling the canapés and feeling sick and at the edge of control. He took another sip of champagne and felt better, but when he paid attention to Blaise again he found him too close.

"Draco, if you were mine, you know I'd tell you how hot you were every day. And no way would I cheat on you. Who knows how many times Potter's got his jollies on with the other players? I had you first-"

"-We were seventeen! And would you keep your voice down Zambini? We were kids."

"Come on Draco, just a dance then."

"No."

"Well why in all of arse did you ask me here then?" The Italian man's bronzed skin had taken that dark red smudge under the cheekbone that Draco knew meant trouble.

"Control your language. I asked you here because I could use the support of a friend. Because I didn't know what to expect, and the press would put me in the paper even if I _didn't_ come. Can't you just act like a friend?" Blaise gave him a dark look and looked around for another tray of canapés. "Please," Draco said, panicked by the action, and he knew that the P-word would make Blaise pay attention. He opened his mouth to say something else, one slender hand on the other man's stiff arm, when a veritable explosion of sound and ruckus drew both of their attentions and the Brinsbourne Beaters began spilling onto the blue carpet. Blaise took his near-empty glass away from him and exchanged it for a new one. He sipped at it blindly.

There was a mixture of styles in evidence, from the modern-style dress robes to slim-fitting muggle tuxedoes. It took him a couple of moments to pick out Harry in the throng as he had cleverly disguised himself by staying in the thick of it. He was wearing a slim, deep blue muggle suit with an open-necked white shirt and tan Italian shoes that Draco remembered buying for him at a cobbler's in Florence during a long weekend away. He must have dressed himself, as he didn't have the blonde's help, but he hadn't made a hash of it, and whilst the ensemble was a little safe (especially in comparison to that of Brookes, who was standing next to him in leather trousers and open dress robes, one arm slung around the waist of his new girlfriend) it was undeniably attractive on him, emphasising the broad shoulders and trim waist Draco loved so much.

"Well, I wouldn't kick that out of bed," Blaise murmured, uncomfortably close to his right ear. Draco shifted and realised that they had unconsciously moved closer to the doors. The team were assembling for photographs, Harry still sticking close to Brookes as though he was hesitant to be left alone. It was a new experience, watching the production instead of taking his place next to the brunet, their fingers linked. He wasn't sure he liked it, and felt a little unsettled in his stomach. He put the champagne flute down on the nearest table. "Don't be crass," he told Blaise. From where they were standing now, he could just about hear what the photographers and reporters were shouting.

"Rhys, over here Rhys!"

"Yeah, put your arm 'round her, that's right, yeah…"

"Harry! Harry where's Malfoy?"

"Has Malfoy left you? …Is it true he moved out? ...This way, Harry! Harry! …Give us 'sad' Potter! …Hey Harry, what about that rumour, eh? Is it true Malfoy's moved in with someone else? Is it true he took custody of your son? ...This way Harry, left side Harry! …What comment do you have on the rumour that you slept with Alex Cutteridge? Potter!"

Draco stood frozen, watching Harry fending questions. He looked confident, but Draco knew better. He wanted to go to him but couldn't make his legs move. Another tray of canapés passed close by and he felt dizzy. Blaise was holding his arm and saying something he couldn't hear.

Maybe it was the intensity of the gaze Draco was giving him, or perhaps just a desire to flee the barrage of questions, but Harry chose that moment to turn and look right at him. His eyebrows instantly parted and the small dimple next to the left corner of his mouth returned. Using the cover of a throng of players from the Wasps, he escaped the press line and made it in through the doors.

The spotlights moved over his body as he made his way toward them, illuminating his neck and catching the chain Draco had given him. "You came," he said, reaching them at last.

"I …always do." It was like a special kind of magic, watching Harry's face break into a real smile, here amongst all the tension. It made Draco's own lips twitch in relief, knowing that a private joke could join them together like that.

"You look beautiful," Harry said, touching his fingertips with his own. "I'm jealous of every man and woman in this room for looking at you."

Draco flushed, and distinctly heard Blaise mutter, "Merlin, get a room."

"Zambini," Harry put his hand out to shake, not really taking his eyes off Draco.

"I'm going to find a boy to take home," the Italian announced, and promptly disappeared. Draco licked his lips, watching Harry watching Blaise walk away.

"He still wants you I see."

"He's my friend, Harry." He collected himself and suggested that they move away from the doors. They seemed to have gone unnoticed by the army of reporters so far, but it was only a matter of time before that luck would run out.

They found a table near enough to the stage that Harry would be able to get to the steps easily, but slightly secluded by some large potted extravagant plants that had been added. The canapés came near to them but not near enough to reach yet.

"I haven't eaten since before the match. Would you mind if I order?"

"No."

"May I order something for you?"

Draco looked at him for a moment before nodding and looking away. They sat in silence, Harry's fingers on his, until the food arrived. The waiter had clearly been able to rustle up something a bit better than canapés for the famous Harry Potter, and set down a small smoked salmon salad, some bruschetta with aubergines and tomatoes, and a plate of mixed antipasti. Three dishes seemed like a lot of food, but the plates were small and clearly intended to be shared.

"You know, I love watching you eat."

"What?" Draco stared at him incredulously, one hand still debating whether to pick up the serving fork for the salad. He felt like he could break the day's fast, with Harry there, but didn't understand why it was making him uncomfortable. Maybe it would be better not to have anything, and the feeling would go away again.

"It's one of the sexiest things ever." Harry leaned forward conspiratorially, and it didn't make him want to lean away, the way it would if Blaise, or even his Aunt had done it, "do you remember when we used to feed each other bits off our plates in restaurants? I'd always want to order a hundred dishes, just to watch you."

"I don't want to do that here," he answered, startled. There were photographers moving between the crowd now and he knew it was only a matter of time before they were discovered. The back of Harry's hand stroked his knee and he caught it quickly before it could depart, taking some of the topping from one of the bruschetta with his fork and adding it to his plate before selecting some olives as well.

"No, I like that to be something that's just ours," Harry agreed, taking the discarded piece of bruschetta and putting it on his own plate. "It makes me really happy cooking for you too, the way we do at home. Or making family meals with you, me and Ted in the kitchen, that's the best thing ever."

He knew he had him. Draco lifted the aubergine to his mouth and almost lost control at the taste. It was so good. "That's gorgeous," Harry was saying, gently, like a breath, and it was. He ate a piece of bruschetta with Parma ham and a ball of mozzarella, and two fresh figs with gorgonzola, and over half of the salmon salad, and he didn't feel anything but pleasure, and Harry's pleasure washing over him. Draco never realised that he had finished more of the food than Harry, and Harry never told him, just kept holding onto his other hand and smiling, telling him that it was good.

Blaise joined them again just after the waiter had swept their empty plates away, and Harry hid his irritation well, but not quite well enough for Draco not to notice. He seemed to have found a young bit of stuff in a very expensive looking suit, however, and paid no unwanted attention to Draco. The speeches had started and there was a new bottle of Krug in the champagne cooler on their table, but Draco ignored it and kept hold of Harry's hand under the table. He felt full from the food but he didn't feel sick, and the private smiles Harry gave him now and then were better than a dessert. They had also managed to evade the attention of the photographers, and that was relaxing.

Toward the end of the award-giving it was time for Harry to go up to the stage. He was giving the lifetime achievement award to one of his own heroes, the Seeker Bernie Gray, who had started a charity that enabled physically disabled children to learn to play Quidditch with specially adapted brooms. Harry looked up to him immensely and had practiced his speech for weeks. Draco had helped him write it and thought he could probably recite it by heart himself. He noticed a nervous flush painting the side of Harry's throat and gave his fingers an encouraging squeeze before releasing him.

"Hero's big moment? Must enjoy that," Blaise remarked, and not too quietly, the bastard.

"He hates public speaking," Draco replied, not deigning to look at him, "but he does it very well." A ripple of applause started as Harry reached the lectern, and the blond watched his shoulders relax where they had been tensed for boos and hisses. Although he knew Harry couldn't see him with the lights in his face, he smiled their secret smile to him; the one no one else could see, just the way Harry had smiled when they had their dinner.

"Ladies and gentleman, it gives me great pleasure to be able to present this year's lifetime achievement award. Before we look at some of the highlights of his career, let me tell you about when I first met Bernie…"

They were still standing in ovation for Gray ten minutes later. Cameras flashed at Harry and Gray, clutching his trophy and looking very embarrassed.

"Thank you, and congratulations again to Bernie. Before I leave the stage, I would like to be a little more serious. We are all here as members and representatives of the QA, an organisation about more than Quidditch the game. It is an organisation of philanthropy and generates millions of galleons into our country's economy, charities, education and lifestyle. I feel very privileged to be a part of it. That is why I would like to take this opportunity to offer in person an apology to the QA for my actions at the Quidditch trials this summer. Actions that have damaged the reputation of my team and brought international notoriety, and not particularly the good kind." There was a ripple of nervous laughter, and Draco felt a couple of faces turn to look at him.

"More importantly than this, my actions damaged my family, and I am sorrier than I can say for causing them pain. They mean a great deal to me. As of yesterday afternoon a holding bar was arranged to prevent journalists from approaching my house." Draco heard his own breathing quicken, and clamped down on it. "I hope I am not abusing the opportunity to be on this stage, but I must ask you, myself, in person, to let us alone to repair our family. If we can. Thank you."

"Well that was dramatic," Blaise remarked, turning with a ready smirk, "he really does – Draco?"

He found Harry just outside the cloakroom behind the curtains. "Harry?"

"I'm sorry, it just came out, I meant to do a quick apology that Janet helped me write up and then I ad-libbed and it all went wrong, and-"

"Harry, shut up." It was warm in the cloakroom, and Harry's mouth was soft on his as he nestled into the coats, and then harder as he stroked his tongue and ran a hand up the sensitive line on the back of his neck. Green eyes glittered at him in the gloom. "Do you have any more obligations tonight?"

"None to stop me from taking you home right now."

"I-"

"Sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here."

Draco blinked in the light, Harry had gone completely still. "Would you mind leaving us alone, please."

"Look, Harry-"

"I believe my partner asked you to leave us alone," Draco said firmly. Now that the glare was less harsh he had worked out that it was Alex standing in the doorway.

"Well you might want to find a more private place then," the other Seeker sneered, angry: "Or are you trying to spice things up?"

"That's enough," Harry turned and glared at him. "I think you should leave."

"Like you wanted me to leave before?"

Draco moved his hand minutely. Harry had it in a squeezing grasp and it almost hurt.

"He can't have been giving you much of what you wanted if you had to look elsewhere."

Draco felt Harry tremble. He remembered the photographs in the white envelope, and Harry asking him to make love to him. A crackle of magic escaped from the little finger on the brunet's free hand with a sharp popping sound.

"Come on Harry, let's go." Quiet voice, and much calmer than he felt inside. He didn't know how they made it to the apparition point without being ambushed by reporters and busybodies but they did, and were soon standing in the porch of their house. He felt in Harry's jacket pocket for the keys and let them in, dropping them in the bowl on the hall table. It seemed like months since he had last been there, but it still looked exactly the same; like home.

He went into the kitchen, snapping the lights on, and picked up their electric kettle.

"I'll make us some tea," he said, unnecessarily. Harry was still standing in the doorway while he filled the kettle and located their habitual mugs and the teabags. There was serenity in doing the mundane task that helped him breathe more easily. He knew now that Harry didn't want Alex, that he desperately wanted him back. Despite himself Draco felt a momentary sadness that Harry had lost a friend he had liked so much. Then he remembered the letter, and the idea of Harry in pain, whatever the situation, made him ache.

Arms came around his waist, Harry's forehead against his shoulder and the curve of his neck in a reflection of the way Draco liked to stand while his lover cooked. He found that he liked the symmetry. "Thank you," he said, not entirely sure which bit he was thanking him for. Draco made a noise of assent in his throat. "I've missed you _so much_."

"I miss you too." He put his arms over the ones encircling his waist and entwined all four of their hands together while the kettle began to boil.

"I wrote a letter to Teddy, I hope that's okay."

"Don't be silly, that's always okay."

"Sometimes I feel estranged from him. I find it hard to get to know him over so little of the year."

"It's making the most of the short moments that counts."

"Yeah."

"You don't need to feel distanced from him. I'm sorry if it seems like I monopolise him, but I can't help it sometimes. I'll try to make sure you're more included. Having a family with you is really important to me, Harry."

He felt Harry shift slightly against his back, but he didn't let go of him. "Is this about the letter? Should we sit down?"

"I think I like it like this for the moment if that's okay." Draco paused, breathing out slowly, waiting for the words to form themselves. "A part of me thought you'd forgotten about wanting a baby. You never mention it."

"You were the one who asked me to wait ten years."

"I suppose I did."

"Are you trying to keep me in suspense?"

"There's so much more we need to sort out and fix before we can talk about this properly." Harry's hands were so tense under his own that he took a moment to rub them soothingly, wrists to fingertips and back again. He could see the faintest reflection of their faces in the cabinet above the kettle. It clicked off and he freed one of his hands to pour out the water. "And we'll need to talk to Ted about it," he continued, carefully stirring, weighing his words, "but I would love to have more children with you, Harry. If we can make it that far." He felt Harry shaking then, and turned swiftly in his arms to kiss him. The teaspoon clattered on the floor, and the counter was hard against his hip but he didn't care. Harry's mouth tasted so good, like tears and bruschetta and home.

"_Harry_-"

"I want you so badly right now-" Hoisted onto the adjacent counter, one thigh narrowly missing their steaming mugs. Open shirt and jacket greedily pushed from his narrow shoulders in one swift movement. "Draco, let me-"

"Yes – yes, Harry…" Bending his head again to get at the swollen lips, hands smoothing back the unruly curls of black hair, and then the flash of mischief in bright eyes as the tousled head bent down away from him… "Yes, nugh…" hands stroking through the baby hairs at the name of Harry's neck, trying to resist the urge to push his head down.

888

Harry straightened up, panting and quickly checking his lapels for streaks. Kissing Draco as he helped him off the counter. The blond righted himself and pulled his trousers together over his thin hips, watching Harry wash his hands before getting the milk out and adding a splash to each of their mugs. A laugh escaped him before he could stop it, one hand smoothing up the brunet's back.

"Great oral, unhygienic setting," he quipped, snagging their spare wand from the utensils pot and scourgifying the surface his bottom had just been hugging. Harry laughed and turned him in a little spin. He felt light-headed suddenly. "I think – would you make me something to eat?"

"Of course. We'll take some cheese and biscuits into the lounge," Harry said. If he sounded a little too eager to make Draco food, the blond pretended he hadn't noticed. He took their mugs down the hall and leaned back on one of their low couches.

The room was spotless, too spotless for Harry to have been spending any time there. He sat up again and looked around properly. Kreacher wasn't this good. There really wasn't a spot of living evidence anywhere. Pausing in the doorway he could hear Harry still clattering in the kitchen, giving him the necessary noise cover to make his way up to their bedroom undetected.

"Oh Harry." He wondered which room the brunet had been sleeping in. He had just discovered the right spare bedroom when he heard Harry calling him, his feet on the stairs. Slight panic in their staccato rhythm. "I told you it wouldn't be forever."

"I know, but… I just couldn't sleep."

He turned and put his arms around him. "What will I do with you, Potter?"

Harry quirked a smile, "something naughty that will leave us both aching for hours?"

Draco laughed. "You have a one-track mind. I'm going to get changed."

In the end they both changed into their pyjama bottoms and dressing gowns. Draco had picked out the gowns at a small embroiderer's in Devon and although they had their initials on they tended to wear each other's. He smoothed one hand unconsciously over the swirly HJP branding, watching Harry undress and hang up the suit. His frame had shrunk slightly since the England training, the muscles more relaxed. Draco's fingers itched to massage the lean expanse of his back as Harry leant over toward their laundry basket, tossing the white shirt in. He moved up behind him and ran his palms flat between the warm shoulder blades.

"This is mine," he muttered, not really intending to vocalise the thought. He could see the profile of Harry's face crack into a grin.

"Yeah."

"Here," he helped Harry on with the other dressing gown although it was a bit snug on him. "Harry," something in his voice must have made Harry look at him, and they sat down for a moment on the edge of the bed. He hadn't thought this would be so difficult: "I'm sorry. About the f-food. I – I really did try but-"

"God, Draco." Harry grasped his hand gently but firmly. "You have no idea how happy it makes me for you to say that. Come here."

He pushed his nose into Harry's shaggy hair and inhaled deeply. The worry that maybe he had been crying wolf evaporated and left a sense of relief so strong that it was almost like eating the feeling, it tasted so strong. Pulling back a little to look at him he saw that Harry's eyelashes were wet, and that was confusing because he didn't think he'd upset him, but he kissed him anyway and made it go away.

"Our tea will be almost cold, let's go downstairs, yeah?"

And it was a really good evening, to sit in Harry's arms drinking tea and eating the brie and grapes, bits of crumbled cheddar on water biscuits: feeding some to Harry, and eating some himself. "You don't have to worry," he told Harry, not really sure what he was telling him. "You don't need to worry about this."

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><p><strong>Please review, it's lovely of you...<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi guys, still a lack of reviews and it's really getting me down and makes me less motivated. I don't have any of the next chapter written yet, I'll be honest, so a little encouragement wouldn't go amiss! Sorry for the long update wait but I have a lot of work to do, and writing this is supposed to be my stress relief. However this chapter became progressively angsty, and there is more about Draco's state of mind here. **

**If you are affected by any of the issued raised concerning food control, I would encourage you to check out's BEAT's website. They're great and straight-talking whilst also being very sympathetic to the psychology of disordered eating. **

**PS- my laptop crashed in the middle of this and the document wasn't saved. I think it recovered it all though...**

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><p><strong>PART FOUR<strong>

When Draco awoke he was still wearing the dressing gown and pyjamas, although he could tell before he even opened his eyes that they were in their bed, and Harry was with him.

"You have training," he murmured, sleepily.

"It's Saturday, I've been and come back." Harry shifted beside him and looked down from where he was sitting up against the headboard, Daily Prophet in hand. "Good morning," he smiled, and Draco basked in it, stretching like a kneazle before rolling onto his stomach, head tilted on Harry's thigh. The slight roughness of leg hair scraped against his own meagre morning stubble.

Draco reached up with one slender hand and flicked the underside of the newspaper. "What's the news?"

"Honeydukes has a new line, chocolate sex toys, order only. It's the scandal of Hogsmeade."

"Harry!" he swatted him.

Harry laughed, "Not much on us. A bit about my speech, 'who does Potter think he is,' all that crap, but on the whole there's more attention on Brookes' trousers than anything else to do with the team. I knew those leathers would get him into trouble. Skeeter's done a whole article speculating on him being in the closet." He chucked the paper on the floor and rolled them over in a swift movement. Draco's breath caught at the motion, his head tilting backwards slightly as he focused on the man on top of him.

"Chocolate sex toys?"

"All the range."

The blond shook his head, squirming in his lover's gentle grip. "You're filthy Potter."

"Well I bet someone makes them," Harry reasoned, leaning in to cast a teasing breath over his right ear. Draco's eyelashes fluttered closed. "I could plug you with a bit of chocolate and we'll make millions…"

"Harry!" Draco felt the tendons in his neck shudder as Harry's face turned from playful to serious, intense; years of knowing what that meant sent his pulse skyrocketing immediately. Unbidden, his tongue crept out swiftly to relieve his suddenly dry lower lip, watching the brunette's eyes track the motion. He could feel the flush of arousal begin to paint him, felt Harry hard against his thigh. How many weeks had it been since he had lain with him? It felt like years.

"Draco, I want you."

"You're in a kinky mood," he responded, breathlessly.

"Oh I am," Harry admitted, letting go of his hands and casting a devious smirk at him before undoing the dressing gown belt. "Nearly fell off my broom this morning thinking of all the wildly naughty things I could be doing to you…all spread out for me…wanting this, so beautiful and hard…"

Draco groaned, swallowing Harry's guttural words as their lips and tongues met and explored each other. "Do you want this, baby?" The pyjama bottoms were swiftly stripped off his legs, and he spread his thighs without even thinking about it, his hands all over Harry's back and the sweeping hard curve of his shoulders. Gripping. Wanting. "Lubricant," Harry demanded, hoarse: "lubricant…" a bottle flew into his hand. It wasn't the one they usually used but it would do the job.

Draco keened as he felt hands rubbing the cool gel, quickly warming, over his pectorals, stomach, cock and entrance, forgetting his body; forgetting that he was bones where Harry was muscle… and feeling so desired… and the touch was so familiar but still so _exciting_. Harry's teeth almost pierced the sensitive patch under his ear as two fingers entered him smoothly.

"_Yes_…"

"Just getting started. You love this, don't you?"

"Yes, oh –Harry, talk to me…"

"How many times do you think we can make you lose control this morning? You know I love it when you lose control Draco… so beautiful, never hurt you again… no one else… fuck… oh baby, that good?"

"So good…" Draco shifted, moving his legs more. Captivated by Harry's gaze.

"Do you want more? Do you want me?"

"Both, god, _everything Harry_…" Galvanised into action, he used his teeth to tear the wrapper off the first condom he found.

Later – quite a bit later – they lay spooned, Harry behind him, waiting to come down. Draco was still trembling.

"Draco?"

"Mmm."

"You okay?"

He rolled into Harry, against his chest. "Perfect."

"I didn't hurt you."

"No. I'm not made of glass Harry; I'll tell you if it's too much, too rough. You know part of me still identifies with that little slag you tamed twelve years ago."

Harry frowned, "don't talk about my lover that way." Draco gave him a doting smile and leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. "Shall I make us some breakfast? That certainly worked up my appetite."

"I think I'd better shower first."

They showered together and dressed comfortably before making their way down to the kitchen. It was warm for November and sunlight gleamed on the worktops. Draco selected the ingredients and Harry carefully put them together. Eggs and spinach on wholemeal toast with satsumas and yoghurt with apricot jam to follow. Draco made the coffee, Harry poached the eggs. Their bare feet touched under the kitchen table.

"Would you like to go for a walk?"

Draco set his spoon down. "I think we should talk." Harry stilled, coffee cup half to his mouth. "I'll be right back. There are things we need to discuss now, things we need to get out the way."

"…Okay."

He came back with the white envelope.

"These came the day before you came home. You should see them."

"What are they?"

Harry opened the envelope curiously, almost as though he half expected Draco to have a surprise for him. 'It's a surprise all right,' the blond thought wryly. The first image he picked up was the most indistinct, and he frowned at it without really looking. The next one made the entire colour wash out of his cheeks, before it returned tenfold. Draco leaned forward.

"I'm sorry Harry."

"What – _no_…" It was more painful than he had imagined, watching the expressions of hurt, betrayal, disgust and panic flutter over his lover's face. How many times had he fantasised in the last two months about throwing those photos in that face? "I think I'm going to be sick-"

"No, no calm down Harry."

"Oh my god, you've had these all this time? What- where did they come from? Draco, I'm s-so s-sorry," he hiccoughed, forehead creased.

"Shhh…. I admit that when I got them I was angry. More than angry. They were sent anonymously …I wanted to confront you with them so many times. Then when I read your letter… you're not enjoying it are you? In the pictures you look so… Just tell me that once and for all: did you enjoy it?"

Harry was shaking his head furiously before he'd even finished speaking, and his voice came out gurgled, "I don't even remember it. I thought it would go away if I didn't talk about it. I thought I remembered being h-hurt, but I don't even know what I remember or not. Please believe me. You _have_ to."

Draco took a couple of breaths and swept the photographs back into the envelope. "I believe you." He repeated it for good measure: "I believe you. But there will be copies of these. Someone, somewhere, has copies. So we have two choices. One: Burn the fucking things."

"Yes, do it!"

"Or number two," he sighed. "Turn them in to our solicitor and let him do everything in his power to prevent them being published." He got up and stood behind Harry's chair, kneading his shoulders. "I could kill Alex for hurting you."

"It takes two to stir the potion, maybe he wants to kill me too."

"Maybe." Draco leant down and rubbed his cheek against Harry's soft hair, still slightly damp. "But I can't stop thinking about last night. He wanted you, I know he did."

Harry flinched. "I'm _yours_."

"Yes, you are, and I love you." He tilted the brunet's head and kissed him chastely before taking a seat on his lap. "I never really stopped believing that you loved me back," he confessed, smoothing the hair back from Harry's forehead and pressing his lips against the fine lines. "One day I know I'll be able to forgive you. I felt so jealous though. I feel… he's twenty-eight, Harry. How do you think that made me feel? And athletic… slim. He's - sexy."

"I don't need a twenty-eight year old to make me feel young and attractive! Besides, we _are_ young! Take this morning. I love getting wild with you, and I equally love it when we take things slow and gentle. That's something I could never get with anyone else. That idea that you're mine, that your body is mine to touch and take …have you any idea how good that makes me feel? Because I'll tell you every day if you want me to."

The blond shifted and looked away. "Then why are you pushing me? Why do you keep feeding me? You… you think I'm unattractive."

"Do you want the honest answer or the one I think will make you smile? Give me some help Draco."

He licked his lips. "Honest," he whispered. "I can take it."

"Okay," Harry paused, picking his words. "Even if you were a bag of bones I would still find you attractive. Nothing you do to yourself will every stop me from telling you how gorgeous you are …but the amount you eat terrifies me sometimes. Your Aunt has noticed too. One day Teddy will." Draco inhaled sharply but didn't move away.

Harry wet his lips and continued. "It's _okay_ to put weight on. I'm an athlete, I'm big; I weigh a lot and carry a load of muscle. How can you feel this way about yourself? Do I disgust you too? There's fourteen stone of me to crush you between the sheets… If you're worried about putting fat on we can start working out together, or go running, you know… share the experience. You're the healer Draco; I know that somewhere inside you know that this isn't right."

The blond remained silent, a small pulse jumping in his neck. Harry rubbed his back. "You can control this."

"I _am_ in control, Potter!" He felt his lips twist into an unattractive snarl.

"You wanted my answer."

"Why didn't you write any of it in your letter then?"

"Because some things you need to say face to face. I love you so much. You told me off for treating you like glass this morning? Well I feel like I'll crush you, or break one of your bones, a wrist…"

"_Stop_!" His face in the curve of Harry's neck.

"Where's the man who teased me in that patisserie in Lyon and stole my pain au chocolat? The one who introduced me to fois gras, or butter bean soup, or snails in garlic butter? Or my favourite: the combination of whipped cream, strawberries and sex?"

He felt Draco's face jump in a smile. "In here."

"That's a start then, right?"

"I – I thought no one had noticed."

Harry drew back to look at him frankly. "And no one will. You forget I've been with you for over a decade. We can't keep things secret. But six months ago we wouldn't have needed to have this conversation. Don't you think it's better that we fix it now?"

"The press are really gone?"

"They're gone. Not allowed within five hundred metres of our front door. We won on grounds that it went against the muggle secrecy act."

"Okay. Let's go on that walk."

888

It was unseasonable sunny in Whitstable. They had apparated to a secluded portion of one of the old sea walls and walked along the shingle, hand in hand and in a companionable silence. There was a tumble-down vintage furniture shop halfway along. Draco disengaged himself and went over to examine the faded upholstery of the Edwardian chair just inside the doorway. Harry slipped his hands into his pockets, watching the fine flyaway strands of blonde hair fluttering across his lover's forehead; caught in the rolling sea breeze.

The photographs from the white envelope played on his mind, disgusting. Not for the first time, he was blown away by Draco's inner steel.

Ducking under the low door jamb, his eyes took a little while to adjust to the dim light by contrast to the sun glancing off the beach pebbles outside. "Look at this," he turned and was stunned by the sight of Draco's hair again, practically glowing in the gloom. "Harry! Stop, pay attention!" A smile in his voice. He lifted his lips away from the blonde's jaw and looked up into his face. Draco shook his head, "you can kiss me on the beach – I want to show you these door handles."

They browsed companionably for a while, Draco a little more vocally; he liked design, and old things – perhaps a by-product of growing up in an ancestral home. They didn't buy anything, but nonetheless it was a refreshingly normal activity. When they re-joined the beach and reached the main pier, all thoughts of the abysmal photographs had fled to the back of Harry's mind, and he was having more fun doing normal things than any amount of fancy award ceremonies or quidditch wins could provide.

Draco led them up to the top floor (classics) of Harbour Books, and started selecting things to send to Teddy. "I think I bought him _Great Expectations_ last year but I'll bet my wand he didn't get past the first chapter. How about some Waugh? _A Handful of Dust_, or _Brideshead_?"

Harry laughed, "_Vile Bodies_."

"Why?"

"Because you didn't mention it and therefore think it's a degenerate book. I didn't know you'd read all these."

"I had a library at the manor, you knew that."

"Not with muggle books in."

"Yes, well, I was an only child, I liked to read. Besides, if I wanted to get him something degenerate I could send him _Lady Chatterley_ and have done. Do you think he reads any of the books I send him?"

"He is a Ravenclaw."

"Hmm. I think I'll send him _The Count of Monte Cristo_; that's so long he'll be reading it right up 'til Christmas. And it's a good book for boys. Can you hold these?" He dumped a stack of novels into Harry's arms.

"Bloody hell; are these for now or for Christmas?"

"Christmas! It's only a few days from November," Draco reasoned, rooting on a bottom shelf, pulling out tomes and replacing them again after skimming the blurb. At Harry's lack of reply he looked up at him. "Hey," he got up, taking the stack of books from his lover's arms and placing them on the top of a low shelf next to them before running his hands up and down the tense forearms. "Brooding in the bookshop is not allowed."

"Two days ago I was thinking whether I was even going to be allowed to spend Christmas with you."

"You're allowed and you're cooking," the blond murmured, drawing his arms around his waist. They stood in reflective silence for a moment. The top floor of the shop was quite deserted apart from them, shafts of light falling between the shelves. "It's good to get out of the house together, isn't it? It helps."

"Yeah."

"Do you really want to talk in the bookshop?"

"Well no one else is up here."

"I was thinking a lot when we were walking."

"Me too."

"I want to continue living with Aunt during the week. It will help us take time to think about things separately as well as together. I mean, you can still see me during the week. This – this isn't coming out very well. I just don't want to go from separation back to all-in immediately. This weekend has been great so far, it has, it – I-" Draco shrugged, smoothing his hair back with one hand. A faint blush crept up his neck. "We have more time to spend quality time together at the weekend."

"Will you keep your promise about… you know, getting well, at her house?"

Draco gave him a sharp look, "I'm not ill," he said guardedly. His eyes quickly flickered the bookshelves, checking that they were still alone.

"Please, I'm not trying to scold you," Harry made an aborted motion towards him and stuck his hands in his pockets. "I just want to know that you take seriously what we talked about this morning."

Draco licked his lips quickly, pressing them together in a line. "Why are you turning this into an interrogation? Is it because I won't move home immediately? Are you going to have her checking up on me?" his voice had raised and he made an effort to bring it down again. Harry was looking a bit alarmed now. He took a deep breath, feeling a little dizzy. "I told you I would work on it. Or maybe my words don't mean anything to you?"

"Don't be unfair," Harry said quietly.

"Of all the things you've done to me recently, you're the injured party over something to stupid as a few missed meals? You're ridiculous Potter." He turned away, trembling, and gazed blearily out of the window. A woman outside the haberdasher's was stocking up on cut-price fabric samples from a big green bin.

Behind him he heard Harry shifting. "I'll take these to the till."

888

Harry put the house keys and their bags of books on the hall table before disappearing straight into the kitchen when they got home. Draco stood in the hallway, the half-open door ahead, wishing that he hadn't gone and fucked up their afternoon. He didn't really know why he'd gotten so defensive, after all they hadn't been to Whitstable for a while and he liked the seaside town. Liked being out with Harry, relaxing.

Harry was at the kettle, popping teabags in their mugs when he put his head in the door. At the touch of a hand to the small of his back, the brunet spoke: "I can't help the way I feel, the way I'm worried… I know you don't like it. I wish you'd humour me on this. When we made love this morning my first thought was not to hurt you. We've got a lot wilder than that loads of times over the years and to be honest that's not usually my reaction."

Draco snorted, a spark of vindictiveness rising in him again. "Please Harry, we weren't making love, we were fucking." The words seemed to tumble out of his mouth, and even as he tried to reach out and grab them back they danced over his tongue and out. Harry turned so fast he put a hand quickly to his neck as though whiplashed. Draco himself felt just as shocked and hurt as Harry's expression.

"I'm, I'm sorry-" he reached out, wincing when Harry recoiled. "I don't know why I said that. It's not true." They paused, looking at each other. He reached for him again. "Harry, please." There was no reply for a moment save the steady clinking of the teaspoons stirring themselves in their mugs.

"Please," he repeated, more forcefully. "What do you want me to say? That our relationship needs serious fixing? That every time my picture ends up in a paper I want to burn it? That you're more attracted to airheaded twenty-year old sluttish quidditch players than you are to me? That I've wanted us to get married for so long, and that so many times I go to refer to you as my husband before remembering it's not true? That I feel disgusting and – and _large_ - and the only way I feel in control anymore is to be some pathetic idiot who doesn't e-eat even though I know it's making me more disgusting to you? Even though I know what it will do to me? Or maybe that no matter what you feel about it, in my head you still _let_ _another man fuck you_ and the photos say you loved it! You're jealous of me doing my fucking _job_ and putting my hands on an injured man's body, well you have no fucking _idea_ how I felt! How I still feel! You tell me you love me and in the same breath you tell me how disgusting and bony I am, like I don't already know it, like it's _news_! Is that _what you wanted me to say_, you prick?"

Harry cleared his throat, blinking hard, before disengaging the white fingers in his t-shirt.

"Yeah," he answered hoarsely. "Yeah that is what I wanted you to say."

Draco ended up drinking both of the cups of tea.

* * *

><p><strong>Please leave a contribution in the little box. <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to all for the reviews of encouragement. I usually try to reply to reviews individually, but recently I haven't had a lot of time to be on my laptop and I find it tricky to reply from the email on my phone. I am very sorry fot this rubbish excuse and will certainly try harder. **

**This part is very Draco-centric and gives a lot more insight into his emotions and his personal struggles. In the middle of the chapter we jump forward by a month. I hope this does not annoy people, but when I read fanfic I find it really irritating wading through long periods of transition... **

**Relax and enjoy, people! **

* * *

><p><strong>PART FIVE<strong>

The left side of the bed dipped slightly, and an almost imperceptible trickle of cold air danced lightly over Harry's back as the duvet was carefully pulled back.

"Draco?"

There was a pause – then, "I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?"

"No, I'm awake." He rolled onto his back and stared blankly into the darkness of the ceiling. A faint pulse of heat was conducted across the sheets from Draco's body to his own, although the blond made no move to curl in on him. "I didn't hear you come in; thought you'd gone to Andromeda's."

Draco shifted and they lay there symmetrically. "I said I'd stay home for the weekends. It's only Saturday – well, probably Sunday. Should I go?"

"No." Flatly – neither a panicked plea nor a scathing hiss. The monotony of the reply, the tiredness of it, weighed on the cold space between them.

After a moment, Draco said, "I have to turn in the midseason physical reports on Tuesday morning. I was thinking I might go to Aunt's early tomorrow afternoon – my files are there."

"If you want to."

"I'm not trying to be awkward, it just makes sense."

"Fine. Will you have dinner there?"

"I expect so. If I sleep there I'll get more work done. I'm not trying to – you could have dinner there too, you know?"

Harry sighed and turned inward so that the top of his knee grazed one of the blonde's thighs. "I didn't mean to make it sound like I was… you know, checking up on you," he murmured apologetically. Draco's leg stiffened under his weight for a moment, then relaxed. "I just – the awards turned out great, and this morning was amazing – well, parts of it – and-"

"I'm not going to take back what I said, so don't even try it," Draco said firmly. He folded his arms and shut his eyes lightly as though preparing for sleep.

"Merlin you're touchy," Harry muttered grimly, turning onto his back again. "So is this how it's going to be from now on then? We live in separate houses and shag one a weekend, have an argument and fall asleep on it-"

"Looks like it," Draco interrupted waspishly, his eyes snapping open again. "How the fuck do you want to play it?"

"Draco," Harry said desperately, rolling back to him again, "please," he continued, reaching out with the back of his hand and stroking his knuckles down the blonde's upper arm, "we never go to bed on a fight. I – Can't we at least try to talk about it?"

"I want to live with Aunt during the week, to give us the space we need to sort through us. Discuss."

"Okay." He leaned in and dropped a kiss on the pale shoulder, rubbing one elbow gently. "You're…right about giving ourselves space apart to um, you know, sort out our headspace. But I want to be able to see you during the week, maybe spend our lunch together, or," he cast about quickly, trying to come up with a food free activity, "or go to the theatre together, or a quidditch match, or maybe just on a walk… visit Teddy?" He took a gulp of air, waiting for Draco's rebuttal.

"You hate the theatre."

"Ah, but you told me once that I just 'hadn't found my play yet,' remember? We could go to the cinema."

"We're not dating, you know," Draco reminded him, but he could tell the blond was thawing slightly. "People will say we're trying to start again."

"Yeah? Well I don't give two shits what 'people' say: this is about us, and I think we should have some fun spending a bit more time just doing er, fun things, together."

"Usually our idea of fun means shagging," Draco reminded him dryly, finally turning over to face him and sliding a narrow thigh between his knees. He regarded him pensively for a moment. "Do you really want to date me?"

"We used to do it quite a lot."

"Yes, I remember." The shadow of a smile crept across his face. "We went to that weird fetish gallery in Berlin and you nearly got us arrested."

Harry laughed and hid his nose behind the blonde's ear. "I can't believe you still remember that."

"It's scarred on my memory," he deadpanned; "Auf, excuzzer-meh Herr Potter, das exhibit ist nicht fur ze use!" They giggled together – idiots in a bed. "I've never been so relieved to 'go muggle' for a weekend."

"A long weeked," Harry amended – "A long and very sexy weekend."

"Didn't you hear me say fetish gallery?"

Harry sniggered and dropped a few more kisses in the blond strands and on the pale shoulder. Draco sighed slightly, shifting. "Harry, I'm not feeling horny."

He nuzzled him. "What are you feeling?"

"Nostalgic? I'm tired of fighting."

"Me, too."

"I'm really tired. There's so much work to get done before Tuesday, and Greg's late with his so I'll have to pick them up on Monday."

"Does he have my file?"

"Yes."

"You don't want to take back my physio?" Harry wondered, slightly hurt. He wanted to understand. Draco wrapped a slender arm around his waist, searching for the best explanation.

"Would you mind… not being on my charts?" Harry didn't reply. "I've been thinking about what you said in your letter. This is my _job_, Harry. I think it's easy for us to lure the lines because quite often we'll use massage as foreplay – or even uhm, 'during-play' – but when I'm at work, it really is just a job. The other guys are my friends, sure, but they're my patients first and foremost. You don't have any call for jealousy. It – some of them are fit, okay, I'd be blind not to notice – but _you're_ my lover, you're the other half of our parent duo, and you're the one I have sex with. The one I come home to. I just think… maybe if you stick with Greg when we're at work we can keep physio and sex a bit more separate."

Harry was still quite quiet. "Harry? Are you angry? Say something."

Harry sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. "It sounds fine. Sounds mature."

"God-"

"No, really, it's okay – I – I get it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. But – we can see each other at work, right? I like working together."

"Of course; I'm not putting a no-entry sign on the door. Do you think I'm made of iron?" He waited a few beats, then ventured: "I don't have to sleep at Aunt's tomorrow night. If you don't want me to. I know it keeps being an 'all or nothing' situation – I – I feel it too, you know?" Harry gave a murmur of assent, and nuzzled his ear again in a way Draco recognised as a precursor to falling asleep.

"Love you Draco," he mumbled incoherently. "Miss you."

Draco leaned into the brunette's body heat a little more. "Love you too," he whispered, and let his eyes fall shut.

888

When Draco woke up it was light in the bedroom and Harry's side of the bed was empty. He closed his eyes and put his hand out. Still warm. Concentrating for a moment he could pick up the faint clinking of kitchenware – it seemed that Harry had gone to make them a morning cuppa – or maybe even the customary Sunday Full English. His eyes snapped open again and he drowsily disentangled himself from the bedclothes, limbs moving slowly over the side. The hardwood floor was cold under the first touch of his toes, and he scooted forward a little to reach the edge of the sheepskin rug instead, curling his feet into the luxurious pile before heaving fully into a standing position.

The large, full length mirror was facing him and Draco took a moment to look at himself, smoothing the flyaway fuzz of his bedhead hair. Shucking his pyjama bottoms in one swift movement, he appraised his naked body for a couple of minutes, turning slightly; trying to find what Harry could see when he looked at him. There was a faint shadow under each of his bottom ribs, and his collarbone stood out starkly like a coat hanger. The skin across them seemed slightly reddened for some reason, as though bruised. He prodded his stomach carefully, and detected a faint squadge of flesh. "Fat," he thought, ruefully. "It's all fat. You need to work out, Malfoy."

He turned around again, both admiring of and yet also slightly irritated by the slight love bite Harry had made on the side of his shoulder the night before. He seemed to keep bruises for a long while, and contemplated rubbing some Essence of Dittany into the mark. His shoulder blades fanned slightly, little ripples of vertebrae between them. He frowned, moving slightly until he had contorted enough to make them go away. After all, healing was his business; physique in particular. Something about the gaunt evidence of his back made him uneasy.

His bottom, too, was flat and lacking the peachy pertness good genes had gifted him in youth. That really bothered him, now he was looking at it properly. There was no way Harry could be attracted to that; _he_ sure as hell wasn't. The image of Alex's toned arse flexing on every sweaty thrust barged itself into his mind and he grimaced at his reflection. Honestly, his own tired looking rump was nowhere near a match for that peachy morsel.

He was about to address his attention to his bony hips and slender thighs when the sudden noise of Harry's feet on the stairs galvanised him into action: Draco jumped back into the pyjamas and slid under the duvet in a semblance of sprawled 'just waking up'. For some reason the idea of Harry finding him in front of the mirror frightened him a little.

"Hey sleepy," he was greeted, warmly. Draco felt inexplicably guilty, and sat up – covered as much as possible by the duvet. "I didn't want to wake you in case you're up working later tonight," Harry continued, dumping a bowl of cornflakes, cup of tea, glass of apple juice and a plate of scrambled eggs on toast precariously on Draco's bedside table before moving round to his own side.

Draco eyed the food, sizing up his morning's opponent. Harry got back into bed with him and reached over for the fizzy glass containing his multivitamin supplements. "Urgh, fucking shit," he grimaced, replacing the empty glass after swallowing it all as quickly as possible. He washed it down with a sip of tea.

Draco was in conflict. His body was both telling him it was hungry whilst his internal monologue was telling him he was full, and reminding him of the stomach dimple. His emotional side was berating him that Harry had gone to the trouble of making the food and found it an attraction to watch him eat. He surveyed the offerings from a clinical perspective. The benefits of the protein-rich egg probably outweighed the fats from the butter and the no doubt semi-skimmed milk Harry would have used. And the toast was wholemeal. He rested the plate on his lap, trying to ignore Harry's badly concealed expression of delight when he began to nibble on one corner. The taste of the creamy, rich eyes enveloped his tongue in their velvety warmth and he felt conflicted whether to moan in appreciation, or hurl in disgust of himself. He took an average and tried to get them down without embarrassing himself either way.

Harry finished his eggs and allowed himself a swift sideways glance at Draco's plate. The blond was only a third of the way through, but he _was_ eating, and that filled him with relief.

"I was thinking of going for a walk again, if you fancy it? Probably not a lot of fine weather left for this year," he ventured. Draco made a small noise of enquiry around his toast. "I don't know, maybe Kent again. Langdon Cliffs from St. Margaret's to Dover? It might be a bit windy," he paused, "I'd be just as happy to curl up in bed with you all morning."

Draco swallowed the last bite of egg and toast, the mouthful heavy in his throat. He wondered how much of a lie Harry was spinning. Did he think Draco didn't realise just how undesirable he was? "Maybe," he answered. Harry quirked a small smile and downed his juice in one.

The cornflakes were a hurdle. Draco weighed them up but couldn't find any nutritional value in them, and the thought of the buttery eggs already inside him was making his stomach churn around. When Harry nipped to the bathroom he swiftly took his wand and 'evanesco'-ed half of the offending cereal. He stared at his wand, unable to undo the spell on foodstuffs, sick and almost dizzy with dread. He quickly stuffed the offending piece of wood into the bedside drawer just before Harry came back. The look of quiet pride bestowed on the half-gone bowl only made him feel more terrible.

"That was fast," Harry grinned, propping himself against the headboard and reaching for his own bowl.

"I vanished them," Draco said.

Harry paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. He set it down in his bowl again, slowly. Draco stared at his hands, his owl bowl tilted in his lap. "I vanished them," he repeated. Why did he have to tell? He couldn't believe it himself. It was as though another person was outside of him, shaking his head, while the other was desperate to get Harry to understand the truth. To understand how …wrong he was. That Draco was bad. He couldn't be trusted. Not even with himself.

"You – you vanished them," Harry repeated, tone unreadable. Draco nodded. Yes. "That's – thank you. For telling me."

"I don't – I don't know." He licked his lips. A stray crumb came back into his mouth, and he started – such a small thing to give such a rich taste. "Harry, I feel sick."

"Okay, calm down," Harry assured him, tone bracing now. He put his own cornflakes back on the table and took Draco's away from him too. "You don't feel sick; just sit up with me, like this – alright. And it will pass. It's fine."

He sat between Harry's muscular thighs and cradled against his chest like a child. He felt like child. Felt _childish_ and strange. He could hear Harry's heart beating quickly, his arms tense around him without being crushing. His mind was whirling. The healer in him knew _exactly_ how serious it was to go around secretly vanishing food, how dangerous it was to crave that hungry feeling. But the side of himself that was vanity, and sexual attraction, saw the wreck of his body and wanted to both punish it and at the same time preserve it from the indignity of going to seed. He could feel Harry's body all around him, the strong, muscular limbs and broad shoulders and trim yet solid waist. He loved that body, cherished it and found it sexually alluring whilst comforting and familiar. He could imagine it thickened out with age and find nothing to repulse.

He was shirtless and the thought of Harry touching this wasted body disgusted him. The brunet was making soothing circles on his forearms with the pads of his thumbs, and he could cope with that, but he quickly became preoccupied with the proximity of those hands to his stomach, both concave with starvation and yet bloated from that area of fat he'd identified in the mirror.

"Draco?"

He started sharply, almost banging the back of his head against Harry's face, not realising that the brunet had been talking to him. Harry's hands smoothed his arms again, and he forced himself to still. "Sorry."

"I know you aren't going to like this, but-"

"You think I'm ill."

The exhalation Harry released was sheer relief. So strong that Draco felt it all the way through him. "Yes, darling, that is – yes, but we can fix it."

Draco felt very still suddenly. "Will you put me in St. Mungo's?" He couldn't imagine anything worse. The press, the nosey staff lording it over the supposed 'miracle healer' of the Brinsbourne Beaters. Teddy finding out. His eyes spilled and he blinked angrily, twisting in Harry's gentle grasp.

Harry brushed his cheek against the blonde's temple. "You have my word that I will not do that." Draco choked, but the sickness suddenly felt lighter. "I was – I was so scared that – that this is _serious_, Draco – I love you, and I don't want you to hurt yourself like this. I won't force you to do anything, but if you could speak to someone, someone you trust, someone who can help… please, I really will do _anything_." He shut his eyes, tight and praying, nose buried in the silky strands.

"_Why_," Draco whispered, tense and confused. He twisted to look at Harry, eyes searching for lies. "There's nothing to – you can't tell me you find this – we both already know that you could have _anyone_."

"I don't want 'anyone,'" Harry gritted, face earnest and sombre both together. "I asked you to lie with me not twenty minutes ago. I _love_ you, Draco. I love your body, I – I _cherish_ it," he continued, stumbling slightly over the flowery word – "It's mine. Keep it healthy – for me." Tears splattered soundlessly down his neck.

888

_200ml cloudy apple juice (organic)_

_Porridge – 30g dry weight, with semi-skimmed milk and 2 tsps honey_

_Medium Banana_

_Salmon fillet with crushed new potatoes, spinach and a small serving of reduced calorie hollandaise sauce _

(Shop bought – eaten almost all – some potatoes and half the sauce left)

_Two mandarin oranges_

_A cup of tea with whole milk, no sugar_

_Vegetable ravioli with tomato and basil sauce _

(Eaten just over half)

_Reduced fat natural yoghurt with half a peach, sliced_

_Cup of green tea_

888

It was the first week of December, and Draco had only two pages left in the notebook he kept. It had taken him a lot of courage to ask Greg for advice, Harry standing behind his chair with one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, poised to prevent escape. Perhaps that was too harsh on Harry, but it had felt especially galling at the time to ask his own assistant for advice. Draco shook his head, flicking to the first few pages and their shaky scrawl:

_Half a slice of wholemeal toast_

_Cup of coffee – black, no sugar_

_An apple_

_Green salad with chicken_

(Half thrown away, he now remembered)

_Half a cheese sandwich_

(He had slipped the other half into the bin and Andromeda had found it later. She hadn't scolded him but he had felt more ashamed than ever)

A month later, Draco sat in his office and wondered whether he would ever be able to go back to not writing his food down – the task had become natural very quickly. At first Harry had worried even more, concerned that seeing food written out so starkly would cause Draco to test the limits of his own starvation, however the opposite had occurred. It became a game with himself to outdo the previous day, not necessarily on the amount of food consumed, but the variety of it and the rediscovery of favourite tastes. He flicked through to the current day and compared the '_muesli (40g) with a medium sliced banana'_ followed by '_tea with two digestive biscuits_' and '_avocado and cream cheese bagel_ (he hadn't quite managed finish it but it was progress)' that he had recorded so far, in contrast to the page he had just looked at. Harry was taking him to dinner that night. He was nervous; he wasn't going to try to deny it. They had been out to lunch for salad or sandwiches a few times during the month, and Harry had eaten at Andromeda's whenever he could during the week. Then, of course, Harry had cooked for him at home on the weekend, which whilst fraught with tension was somehow incredibly bonding: they had fallen into a pattern where Draco would select the ingredients and watch Harry put something together with them.

However, they had not been properly 'out to dinner,' in a real restaurant, since … well, so long ago actually that he barely remembered it.

His hand brushed against something when he moved to replace the notebook, and he pulled it out, smiling. It was a theatre programme. Harry had been true to his word and taken him on some wonderful dates. Not every night, of course. Usually on a Friday so that they could come home to the same house and sleep in the same bed together afterwards. He traced the faces of the principal actors, his face soft as he remembered.

Once they had gone to a tiny gallery opening in muggle London. It was hidden in an equally small alleyway behind a nondescript door. Then a few nights after that Harry had flooed him out of the blue, just after dinner, to spontaneously ask him to walk down the Embankment with him. It was cold and raining, but there was something indescribably romantic about huddling close under a large black umbrella and watching the boats and the people rushing by.

The 'dating' element was both remembered yet new, invigorating their relationship with a new freshness: with new topics of conversation, and new secret jokes. His favourite by far, however, had been a surprise visit to see Teddy play in one of Hogwarts' quidditch matches. Harry had asked him to come to Scotland for the day (under the guise of visiting a tartan maker's no less) and surprised him with their son. In that moment he realised that he had needed, not to fall in love with Harry again, but to re-learn the way of it. That afternoon, watching Harry deep in quidditch strategy plotting with Teddy, he realised with a certainty that his love was not only alive, but very potent.

The other thing they hadn't done was have sex.

Draco stood up and pointed his wand at the office door, locking it securely. With quick, efficient movements he stripped off his shoes, trousers and shirt and padded over to the complex weighing scale he used to keep track of the players' physical fitness.

Gary had asked him not to weigh himself unless during their scheduled appointment, but Draco had been unable to resist from day one. Admittedly, the first three pounds he gained fell off again quickly – he had panicked and starved for two days. Now, he hoped he had put on enough for the month – he had set himself a half-stone target, to gain and maintain. It was modest but he had always found it difficult to gain weight due to the natural slenderness of his original build. After all the players had left for the day, Greg would come to the office and they would run two laps of the pitch followed by ten minutes of muscle toning exercises.

He opened his eyes and stared at the marker, finding that he had gained nine pounds overall: comfortably over his target. He felt a brief moment of revulsion before it was swiftly knocked aside by a burst of pride. In his boxers, he stepped down from the scale and padded over to the mirrored patch of wall on the far side of the room. He checked out his shoulder blades first, then his rear and finally his stomach. He had avoided this moment almost as long as intimacy with Harry.

He stepped closer to the mirror, looking. His head turned this way and that, checking the fresh-looking features in his face. He realised he looked younger. He pulled the ribbon out of his hair and let it fall down across his forehead and past his ears in a soft cascade. It looked luminous, and he imagined what it would feel like for Harry to run his fingers through it. He felt a spike of arousal and stilled, momentarily shocked. His virulent libido had been a subject of much amusement between them for a decade, and it was only now that he realised how dormant it had been since August. He remembered that morning just over a month ago, when Harry had tried to brook the idea of making love, only for it to fall flat, unacknowledged.

The reflection of the clock in the mirror forced him to draw himself away from his own image and over to the changing cubicle. Usually it was used by players to get their kit off and don the towels or loose trousers necessary for their treatments, but today Draco had used it as a wardrobe for one of his favourite suits. It was also one that he knew Harry particularly liked on him. In some ways, the suit was the test of how far he had come. It was tailor-made, but for the past three months it had hung too loosely on him to look well. He buttoned his cream shirt quickly, before stepping into the trousers. There was a definite gap, to be sure, but they slightly hugged his arse and the top of his thighs, and sat in the correct position on his trim waist. He addressed the mirror again and smiled. Yes, it would do very well.

888

Ron was lounging against the dresser, dispassionately watching Harry try on shirts and discard them. "So then 'Mione said it was my turn to take Jen to the park, and I said no it wasn't but why didn't we go together, and then Robbie came in and was like 'blah, blah, blah, me, me, me, no one's paying me any attention,' you know, mate, some days I can't wait for that kid to go to Hogwarts… but then we miss Lottie so much some days, it's just mad, you know?"

Harry made a sympathetic noise and held up a green dress shirt with silver double-buttoned details on the cuffs. "This one?"

"Oh, thanks for listening mate," Ron folded his arms, "I'm spilling me woes here and all you can do is primp. What's this for, anyway?"

"Draco and I are going out to dinner."

"Shit, as in a dinner…dinner?"

"Yeah, with menus and stuff."

"Is that a good idea?"

"I hope so… think so. It's been a month."

"Just a white shirt then with your blue suit and take a big overcoat – it's freezing outside."

"I'm taking dressing advice from Ron Weasley," Harry muttered to himself, dragging the items on and looking at himself critically. Actually, it didn't look half bad. A bit similar to the outfit he'd put on for the Quidditch Awards, but at least he knew Draco liked that. He slipped on the Italian loafers Draco had bought him and turned round. "Verdict?"

"You'll do."

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "You know Robbie's probably just bored being the older kid stuck at home. You should take him on one of the QA's 'mini league' days – I can set it up for you if you want. It's good fun, we took Ted a couple of times when he was younger. I think the age range is eight to thirteen, so Rob's right in the middle. Plus you get to play the 'dad matches' if you fancy it…"

"He's full of mental energy."

"Could calm him down. He might meet kids who'll be in his Hogwarts year."

Ron scratched his chin. "Yeah. I have been trying to get him more into quidditch before he goes to school."

Harry checked his watch. "I've gotta go mate, I'm meeting Draco at his office."

"Right, yeah," Ron clapped him on the shoulder, and with the ease of an Auror, turned on the spot and disapparated through Harry's wards. Harry stared at the spot he'd vanished from for a moment, remembering…

"_Just leave it Harry!"_

"_No!" Harry pushed himself off the bed and stalked over, the dried out sandwich still in his hand. It was a Sunday and Draco had slept at home that night, as per their agreement. It had been a brilliant weekend so far and Harry had been convincing himself that Draco was almost already better, despite being only a week and a half into Greg's treatment plan. That was until he had, on a whim, decided to peer through the kitchen bin while Draco was in the shower. The taste of bile filled his mouth as he uncovered the carefully disposed of sandwiches hidden under strategically placed crumpled newspapers. Had Draco eaten anything at all that weekend? "You didn't vanish these so I know you wanted me to find them." _

"_I don't know what you're talking about – those – those aren't mine! You're making things up!"_

"_Show me your food diary!"_

"_No!" _

"_Show it to me!"_

"_Just leave it alone!" _

"_Draco, please!" He was crying and felt so damned _angry_ with himself for it. "I can't help you if you don't bloody _talk_ to me!" _

"_There's nothing to talk about! I _am_ eating it, you saw me eat – you – you're irrational!"_

"_Did you throw up your breakfast?"_

"_What?" Draco paled, and Harry knew instantly that he'd gone a step too far. "I don't have to listen to this, get out of my way-"_

"_No!" he was blocking the doorway. Draco snarled at him and with an expression of pained concentration and a roar of effort, took himself straight through their wards. Harry had knelt next to the bed, the dried sandwich still clutched tight in one hand, crushing to pulpy mulch. He later learned from Andromeda that Draco had splinched himself – Greg had done a home visit to patch him up. _

Harry shook himself out of the memory and walked down the stairs, pausing in the hallway to shrug on his winter cloak and pick up his keys.

888

Draco started at the gentle knock on his office door. Harry was only seven minutes late but he had already begun to resign himself that he wouldn't make an appearance. He got up from his desk and paused for a moment, regaining his inner balance before crossing the room and unlocking the door. Harry was wearing one of his good suits, and his hair looked velvety-soft. Draco swallowed.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"You look incredibly gorgeous."

Draco flushed, pleased. "Thank you. You look good too."

They paused awkwardly for a moment, more than a decade of familiarity between them and yet so many nerves. Harry leaned in towards him slightly and Draco angled his chin to meet him. It wasn't as though they hadn't kissed or held each other for that whole month, but this time felt rather racked with purpose and a sense of ceremony. He opened his mouth a little more to curl his tongue around Harry's: wanting to taste him, wanting it to be both different and familiar – to get back that desire they had still felt only six months ago or less. Harry's strong arms came around his waist, one hand moving up to rake through the blond hair – just as he had imagined in the mirror. A jolt of desire coursed through him, stronger than he had felt in a very long time.

Harry's eyes flew open as his back hit the door jamb at an awkward angle, winding him slightly. Draco released an incoherent groan at the loss of contact, a groan that went directly to his groin as the blond head moved in again, kissing the underside of his jaw. The white fingers crumpled his shirt as they slid under his cloak. "Draco," the brunet panted slightly, "Draco, the reservation."

Draco leaned into him still, but he stopped his assault of passion. He was trembling slightly. Harry's arms came back round him, smoothing across his narrow shoulders. He felt a little embarrassment, but it quickly faded into satisfaction – knowing that his libido was indeed alive and well was like waking up after a long stupor. He sighed softly, running his fingers through the fine hair at the base of Harry's neck, wanting to touch him constantly.

After a few minutes of just holding each other the blond drew back a little with a laugh. "We've seen each other a few times already today but Merlin I've missed you." They locked eyes, feeling suddenly serious. "Missed us."

Harry's lips quirked on one side, feeling sheepishly happy. "Me too. Have I told you I love you yet today?"

"Not yet but I know it already." Draco flushed again and buried his face in Harry's shoulder briefly. Things had taken a turn into sappy territory and he needed to perk up.

"Let's go," he said assertively, taking the brunette's hand. "I'm hungry." As they walked briskly through the night air to the apparition point outside the club, he realised that he actually was.

The restaurant was in London but it wasn't one of their more regular haunts. The tables were individually lit, giving a semblance of privacy, and there was a piano player tinkling away in the corner at a level that could be enjoyed but did not intrude on the murmured conversations around them. The highly polished floor reflected the lighting softly as they made their way over to one of the more secluded tables, which was surrounded by pleasant foliage without seeming too shielded. Of course it was a muggle restaurant, and Draco felt himself relaxing with approval. He squeezed Harry's hand again gently before they were seated; acknowledging the trouble his partner had taken to put him at ease. When they were presented with the menu, he realised that Harry had also arranged for a limited version to be available to them – one fish, one meat and one vegetarian course each for the starter and main, followed by a chocolate-based dessert, palette cleanser, or cheeseboard to finish. He looked up, stunned by the thoughtful foresight of the other man, and caught him casting an anxious glance.

"Are you alright?"

"Thank you," he said. Then, "yes, I'm fine. Shall I order us some wine? White or red?"

"R-red please, I think I'll have the lamb," Harry returned, surprised. Draco had barely touched alcohol since even before his 'treatment'.

"Okay." Draco steeled himself and surveyed the menu. It didn't look so bad, he told himself, after all there was a limited choice and he liked most of the options available. The problem with choosing from a menu was that he couldn't see what the food looked like and how large the portions would be; when they had taken their lunch together he had either come with pre-made sandwiches or they had gone to a simple café with packaged salads and rolls already laid out for their perusal. He took a quick breath, casting his eyes slightly to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the nearest table's choices, but the plants were in the way. "What are you having?" he inquired, trying to keep his tone light.

"Whitebait followed by the lamb," Harry said after a brief pause, making his mind up. "I might see if I still fancy dessert after that."

"Right." He breathed in and out slowly, a couple of times. It was a coping strategy Greg had suggested to help arrange his thoughts. "I'll go for the …the venison pâté, followed by the roasted marrow – I mean, the sea bass. With white wine - no, with rosé." He set the menu back down on his plate, turned with the options facing down: another strategy, to stop him from weighing his options repeatedly. Harry took his hand gently beside their plates while he ordered and the waiter removed the menus.

The venison was quite rich, and it panicked him that he might leave too much and insult the kitchen; however when Harry noticed him struggling he genially suggested that they swap dishes with the minimum of fuss – as though he would have much preferred the venison after all. The tiny, crunchy fish with a light sauce were much easier to cope with, and as Harry had already eaten over half of them he didn't feel quite so overwhelmed, although a small portion of them were left – not enough to give any offence to the restaurant. The sea bass was much more straightforward territory: the healer in Draco listed all the nutritional benefits of the fish, and he even managed the majority of the accompanying new potatoes, and all of the spinach (another approved food). In fact it was only when he had completely finished the fish that he realised he hadn't said two words to Harry throughout the entire main course.

"I'm neglecting you," he murmured, glancing up, and noticing that his lover wasn't finished with his lamb yet. Rather, the brunet seemed rather more preoccupied with watching him enjoy his own food, a soft light in his eyes.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"As you can see… it was wonderful Harry."

Harry grinned and leaned forward, his eyes bright in the light of the flickering candles. "What do you think of the restaurant? Rhys told me about it."

"It's fantastic – we should bring Ted here during the holidays." He folded his napkin again. "I thought you didn't care much for Rhys?"

"He's okay," Harry shrugged. "An alright Seeker," he added, cutting into one of the last bits of lamb. Draco watched him add a little mashed potato and some red cabbage to the forkful. The mouthful was not too large.

"Could, um, may I try some?"

"'Course," Harry leant over. Draco faltered slightly, wondering if he could do it, before opening his mouth obediently and closing his teeth around the prongs of the fork. Harry drew it out again, carefully, watching his face. Draco chewed a few times, eyes half closed, before swallowing and administering a quick lick to the corner of his mouth. Harry shifted, aroused. "How – is it?" he stuttered, hoarsely.

Draco opened his eyes and smiled, drinking in his lover's look of flushed adoration. "Let's share the chocolate mousse," he said.

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><p><strong>Please review, I read and cherish every one! Also I have not started the next chapter yet, but I can tell you that it's time for Draco's libido to spring back to its former glory! <strong>

**xxxxx**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for the encouraging reviews... not so many for the last chapter, hopefully this one with the long-awaited sex injection will perk everyone up! Also, what did everyone think of the final Potter film? I saw it on Friday and have mixed emotions... I liked the ride of the main film but the ending felt like an anti-climax to me... love to know your thoughts on this. I think I need to watch it again when my mind has cleared.**

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><p><strong>PART SIX<strong>

Harry fumbled with the house keys, nearly dropping them as Draco nuzzled the back of his neck, tongue darting out swiftly with a brief, tingling lick on the underside of his right earlobe. They staggered into the hallway, one of their elbows finding the light switch. The keys jangled and clattered as they hit the bowl on the table, and Harry's cloak became trampled underfoot – Kreacher would find it later and be disgusted at the state of the fine merino wool. The top of Harry's thigh caught the edge of the table at an awkward angle, jarring him, but he paid it no heed, using the edge to balance himself as the blond leaned in and ravaged his mouth again, leaving him breathless. Long, pale fingers wound their way into the raven hedge of his hair and kneaded his scalp thoroughly as their tongues massaged each other in a slick, sinuous dance as they sought out the last vestiges of the chocolate mousse they had shared.

Harry's questing hands found themselves under the flaps of Draco's suit jacket, sweeping the lithe curve of his back before gripping the globes of his arse possessively. The blond moaned deep in the back of his throat, and they broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Draco felt out of control and giddy, and so, _so_ turned on he couldn't believe the sensations. He looked down into Harry's face – he was almost completely seated on the table now – he was flushed with arousal, his neck blotchy with the reddish hue he got, and his eyes were greener than ever under the heavy dark brows that were slightly drawn together in anticipation. Draco drew his fingers slowly out of Harry's soft hair, across his temples and forehead, to smooth away the faint frown lines. He tugged him swiftly to his feet, intent on leading him to their bedroom.

They made it as far as the lounge before he decided that the bedroom was too long to walk, and with all those pesky stairs in the way too… he manhandled Harry into the room, via a lingering kiss in the doorway, and pushed the suit jacket off his shoulders before shoving him down on the couch. Harry flailed, disorientated, before pulling him down on top of him, Draco half kneeling on the floor, Harry's suit jacket cushioning his knee – another item of clothing Kreacher would bemoan the state of later. His lips connected with the brunette's mouth, cheek, jaw, chin and lips again, licking and nipping in a random circle, teeth biting teasingly on the tendons of his neck as he encouraged him to tilt his head back, nimble fingers deftly making short work of his shirt buttons with practiced ease. He sat back on his heels for a moment as he picked up each one of Harry's wrists in turn, dispatching first one, and then the other set of cufflinks. He tossed them carelessly in the direction of the coffee table before slipping the loafers and socks off the Seeker's tanned feet, and taking a moment to press another kiss to the inside of an ankle.

Draco stood up and looked down on his lover, who was gazing up at him, drunk with arousal. "Draco…" one hand blindly groped towards him, seeking his warmth again.

"Not yet, Harry," he commanded, unsteadily, watching the brunette's muscular pectorals rise and fall with every laboured breath. He wet his lips, raising his trembling fingers to his own suit jacket, swiftly shucking it and folding it in half before sliding it onto the table. He breathed in, and he breathed out, having imagined this moment; how he would undress for Harry, and how Harry would look at him… much in the way he was doing just then, in fact, as the brunet had sat up and was perched on the edge of the couch, eyes large and rapt. He took a moment to unfasten his own cufflinks – little Celtic knots in platinum that had been a gift from Harry last Christmas – taking his time with them to belie the shaking of his hands. They joined Harry's on the table.

"Got something for you," he tempted, trying for an alluring tone, although his nervousness made his voice falter slightly. He raised his hands to the open neck of his shirt, the buttons sliding easily through the holes, the silky fabric soft and caressing as it slipped down his arms, leaving the fine blond hairs quivering in the wake of it. This was it. He reached out, guiding Harry's hand to his stomach, a jolt of sheer panic coursing through him at the thought of being touched there, and yet so very determined: "Nine pounds. Nine pounds. Harry-"

"Oh my God," Harry whispered, cutting him off. He started violently, not expecting the brunet to drop to his knees on the carpet, two arms round him as he pressed his hot cheek against the blonde's tense belly. "_Thank_ you," he said, and then, almost so quietly that Draco barely heard it, "Thank _God_." He tilted his head up, face still pressed closely to the blonde's sternum, gaze open as he met the rather stunned eyes. "You look so amazing, you feel amazing too," he grinned suddenly, a wicked little glint behind those playful green eyes: "You _taste_ amazing…" Draco gasped audibly, fingers digging into his shoulders as Harry's tongue snaked out and dipped into his navel, leaving the tiny dip wet and glistening as he nuzzled his nose across the plane of Draco's stomach while his questing hands made short work of his belt and the buttons of his fine trousers.

Draco groaned again, eyes falling tightly shut as his hands smoothed up Harry's neck and into his thick locks again as the brunet mouthed him wetly, hotly, through his boxers, teasing him by breathing warm condensation on the fabric. His spine arched involuntarily at the shock of sudden exposure to the slightly cool atmosphere of the lounge as Harry quickly teased him into full arousal (it didn't take much) and set to worshipping him with his lips, tongue and even teeth as he rubbed his cheek against his hips now and then, nipping the soft skin gently – reverently. When he was close, he felt no shame in gripping the back of Harry's neck, holding him still as he finished.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, running his hands over and over again through Harry's hair, listening to the brunet recover his breath. "Wow," Draco muttered, mainly to himself but audibly enough that Harry might hear. "Wow." A motion at his foot prompted him to look down, and he smiled as Harry carefully untied and loosened his shoes before sliding them off with the minimum of difficulty. He stood patiently on one foot in turn as his socks were dispatched, before sliding down to join the brunet on the soft carpet.

They regarded each other silently in the dark. Draco moved first, raising the back of his hand to stroke up Harry's jaw from chin to ear, bringing them together again. He tasted himself on his lover's tongue, warm and eager. "Want you," he mumbled, between their mouths. "Love you."

Harry pulled back. "I love you too. Do you…"

"Right here." He allowed the brunet to lower him down onto the carpet, hands on his hips, thumbs caressing the hollows of them in circular movements as they rolled, with the unerringly precise action of years' worth of practice, onto the soft rug in front of the fireplace. The grate was dark, and Draco blindly stretched out with one finger, coaxing the few embers into a low glowing heat. The flickering red and gold tones danced off the planes of Harry's chest and shoulders as he leant over him. He gazed up at the darker man, his own white-gold hair spilling around his head. He knew that he looked angelic like this – they had often joked about it, lying right here on this rug.

As if on cue, Harry trailed his hands through those silky strands, causing the blond to arch up a little to give him more access. Then those chapped fingers travelled down his neck, over his nipples and abdomen, to his open suit trousers and the thicket of tufty light brown hair there. Draco raised his hips, knees and finally ankles in an undulating movement as the tan material was whisked from his legs, his boxers following them. Trying to make himself useful, he reached out to the brunette's fly, using the back of his heels to help him push the material off his hips and over the curve of his buttocks. Harry was kissing the hollow of his neck, and he took the opportunity to lavish the shoulder presented to him with his lips, his own long fingers sweeping over the muscled back, over the taut cheeks of his bottom and up again, touching everywhere at once. So familiar, so Harry. He felt his arousal rising again, much quicker than even he could believe.

Harry glanced down his body, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Fast," he noted, approvingly.

"Your fault."

"I bloody hope so," he laughed, face in Draco's neck again; hands on the backs of his downy thighs. "You feel _amazing_."

Draco hid his smile in the thatch of messy black hair: "It's been said." He pushed Harry up slightly, moving to reverse their positions and straddle his waist. "I want to top," he announced, decisively, watching Harry's eyes as his arousal jumped beneath him. He leaned down, capturing the brunette's lips for a moment, drowning himself in them momentarily before raising up a little: "Accio lubricant." A bottle whistled through the air and smacked his open palm. He tilted it toward the light briefly before snorting and chucking it blindly in the direction of the couch: "Accio _better_ lubricant," he muttered, concentrating on the image of the bottle he had wanted. Harry chuckled beneath him, hips vibrating as he continued to stroke steadily up and down the blonde's hard thighs.

Bottle in hand, he slid backwards off the brunette's hips, lips following as he lavished attention on his chest and abs, running his fingers lightly through the sparse hair there; massaging. "Oh, _fuck_…_me_…" Harry muttered, throwing his arms over his head. Draco sniggered, pursing his lips to blow a cold jet of air over his prize: "Cool down baby," he murmured, titillated by the needy groans Harry was releasing. He spent a good portion of time kneeling there massaging the brunette's thighs and buttocks with steady, purposeful strokes, driving him ever more crazy as he moved down his calves and further away from the evidence of his arousal.

Harry snapped his eyes open, staring down at him. "You're driving me up the wall."

Draco hummed, pleased with himself. "I thought you liked my massages."

Harry whimper-groaned, head falling back again as the blonde's fingertips reached the sensitive soles of his feet. "_Fuck_ the massage, and fuck _me_," he exclaimed, bluntly. Draco snickered and kissed one of his ankles again. He sat back for a moment, stretching like a kneazle after a long nap, and rolled himself sinuously over Harry's body once more.

"What do you want me to do?"

Harry stared up into his face, eyes wide and bright. His hands came up and cupped Draco's bare bottom. "I want you to make love to me."

The blond let his face soften, lips quirking to the left, "and why didn't you say so?"

"Someone melted my brain out through my ear," he answered ruefully.

Draco laughed, reaching for the bottle of oil again. Bracing himself on one hand he prompted his partner to part his thighs beneath him, manoeuvring the cap on the lubricant one-handed and administering it messily all over Harry's groin, prompting yet more groaning. He touched his forehead to Harry's briefly, suspended. "Do you want me to wear a condom?" They always had – apart from that one New Years' Eve party when they were drunk in the en-suite bathroom of Jennings' house and couldn't wait until they got home. It was a cleanliness issue – Draco's more so than Harry's – but now he wondered whether the barrier was really necessary.

Harry nuzzled the bridge of his nose, fleetingly. "Rather feel you," he admitted.

After that Draco felt like he was in a blur of motion, the heat inside Harry's body a million times more potent without the rubbery sheath separating them, and the low light from the fireplace bouncing off the sweaty landscape of their bodies, the deep pile of the rug soft under his hand as he tugged on it, a few soft tufts coming away in his grip. Harry's skin sliding against his own like velvet, and then jerking harshly beneath him as though in the grip of a most intense fit… the last thing he remembered before exhaustion and contentment carried him off, was the sound of Harry's voice, "oh my god, oh my god," and the gentle pop of apparition as the last remnants of their energy spun them both away to bed.

888

Harry prised his heavy eyes open, groping blindly for the tinny alarm clock that was rudely interrupting a very good sleep. Four-thirty: time to get up for Saturday practice. He lay for a moment; eyes lightly shut again, the warm weight of Draco on his chest, the slightly pointed nose twitching sporadically against his chest hair. Shifting slightly, he ascertained a pleasant soreness that had nothing to do with the early hour, and grinned into the blonde's hair, breathing in the familiar scent of sweat and conditioner. He should probably get up if he was going to make it to training.

"No." He had attempted to slide himself out from under the blonde's grasp, only for a minute sleepy mutter to arise. Harry angled his head down, trying to get a look at Draco's face and finding him still asleep. Still, orders were orders: he lay there for a good ten minutes more, the back of his free hand gently stroking the soft unblemished skin between his lover's shoulder blades – which, he noted with some relief, stood out not nearly as much as they had the last time they had been in this position. Glancing at the clock, he realised he now had only fifteen minutes, at most, to get to the club. He gingerly made to move the blonde's arm, only for it to tighten even more snugly. "No, _no_ Harry."

Harry shook his head slightly, grinning at the ceiling. "Kreacher!" he whispered, and then again more harshly when no response was forthcoming – "_Kreacher_!"

"Master is calling, so early in the morning?"

Harry peered over the side of the bed to see his elderly House Elf looking both tired and rather pissed off. "Sorry to wake you, I need you to give a message to my manager that I'm sick and can't come to training today."

Kreacher frowned at him, scratching one ear. "Master is sick?" he inquired.

"Yes, sick," Harry mustered up an unconvincing cough – he could have sworn that the Elf raised an eyebrow at him. "See, not well enough to fly around a freezing pitch all morning. Sick," he repeated again for good measure.

Kreacher disappeared, grumbling. Harry closed his eyes again.

A few hours later he awoke feeling a great deal more refreshed. Draco had stopped using his chest as a pillow and was bundled into the duvet on his own side of the bed. Harry spent some time leaning up on an elbow, watching him. There was a decadence to the way he lay, even in sleep, crumpled and wearied from the night's excesses; a debauched angel. Harry gingerly extended a curious finger and stroked the underside of one pale forearm with his knuckle. The angel sighed, wrinkling his nose against the tickle of a stray hair, before finally blinking and staring straight into Harry's face with a frankness that might have alarmed a lesser man.

"Harry," he said, and rolled onto his lover's chest. He pressed his face into the warm dip between his pectorals before addressing one eye to the clock. "You didn't go to training?"

Harry sighed humorously, playing with the silky hair. "I had been employed as a pillow."

Draco snickered, before sitting up and straddling Harry's hips – his nether anatomy perked up immediately, and Draco felt a smirk creep across his face. Try as he might be could not repress it, and decided to go right ahead and tease, leaning down to take Harry's lower lip between his teeth and administering a none-too-gentle nip. "Harry-" a swift yelp cut him off as he suddenly found the world turning over as Harry flipped him easily and pulled his thighs around his hips.

"Ah crap, the lube we used last night is downstairs."

"Want me to summon it?"

"Not sure I put the cap back on…" he rummaged in a bedside drawer and found some vanilla balm they used to use a lot – and from the way Draco was shifting, he remembered it very well indeed…

The coupling that followed was hard and fast and the perfect wake up call, not only for a morning in bed, but a big boost on Draco's burgeoning libido. Harry revelled in the high pitched pants Draco began emitting as he got closer and closer to his release, his fingers digging hard into the brunette's hipbones as his breathing got more and more laboured, arousal and want coursing through his body.

He lay panting in the aftermath, sweeping Harry's hair back from his wet forehead, and then over and over again, fingers digging deep in the unruly locks. To be honest, Harry's bulk was slightly crushing him; he weighed an awful lot more than him, despite his recent successful weight re-gain. On the other hand, the way Harry's hands were still running all over him was reassuringly possessive and made him feel a strange mixture of attractive and yet still very slightly worried about where those hands were touching – were they assessing him? Assessing the dips, curves and angles of his body? Was it still wasted or was the recent weight gain indicative of a foul layering on of fat? He swallowed the familiar sense of panic, pushing it down and away, concentrating on the idea that Harry couldn't keep his hands off him because he wanted him so badly. After a few moments, however, he had to stroke the back of Harry's neck in a manner that indicated he needed to be released.

Harry still recognised the gesture and its message; it hadn't been _that_ long after all.

"Are you okay?" he asked out of habit, rolling onto an elbow and smoothing his hand briefly across his lover's hip with a satisfied sigh. Draco laughed and pressed his forehead against his shoulder. "Do you want me to make us something?"

"Not yet." Draco pushed the tips of his fingers between the curls of hair on Harry's chest, admiring the rise and fall of his muscles. "Would you – I – shall I move home? Tonight?" Harry stared at him for a heartbeat. "If you want it," Draco added, hastily.

"No, no I really want you to," Harry said hastily. "But… because you want to, not because you think I need you to. I mean, I do need you…"

Draco pillowed his head on his arms, a fond smile sneaking up on him. "I want to. We're ready for this, you know?"

Harry ran the back of his hand slowly up and down the blonde's still slightly sweaty back; he couldn't help it, he couldn't stop touching him. "We never should have needed to take the time apart," he noted ruefully, a frown creasing his brow.

"It might make us stronger," Draco said, quietly. Their faces were so close together, it was hardly a chore to lean in and find Harry's mouth with his. They kissed leisurely for long minutes, the pressure of Harry's hand warm and right on his lower back, the brunette's naked skin soft to the touch.

888

Harry jogged round the pitch once more, his breath standing out in thick clouds before him in the chilly morning air. Low pockets of mist were blowing across the bleak landscape, and he almost didn't want to get into the air today. If Wandersley had had suspicions about his supposed 'sick day' on Saturday he hadn't said anything, merely given Harry an assessing look and a dismissive nod before turning to talk to the trainers. Harry made it to the other side of the pitch where some of the team were already doing squat thrusts. As a Seeker, he needed to work more on his wrists and shoulders, although he did a couple of squats and limbering exercises for good measure. Rhys puffed up behind him and started shaking out his wrists.

"You look rough," Harry commented teasingly. Rhys snorted humorously and bent to grab his ankles.

"Oof. Yeah, spent the weekend with Nick… not a lot of sleep, if you get me."

"Nick… Nick MacGerris from the Pride of Portree?"

"Yeah, we met at the QA Ball, and you know… it went from there. You know him?"

"Oh, yes he went to Hogwarts, he was in third year when I was retaking my seventh. Didn't you know him then?"

Rhys grinned, "Hadn't even started Hogwarts yet by then old man." He chuckled, and Harry gave him an exasperated look. "Okay, sorry. Argh, time to get in the air. I'm totally knackered."

Harry shook his head, "wait 'til you're an old man." He grabbed his broom and rose into position. If it was possible, the November air was even colder up here. He nodded at Rhys who was getting into place 'against' him, waiting as the balls were released. They had to wait ten minutes minimum before trying to capture the snitch, taking the time to test their evasive skills against the bludgers and disrupting the play of the other side. It was always starter players, such as Harry, against the support players. Harry circled the pitch, keeping an eye on Rhys, watching his play. The younger man was good, he could recognise that easily enough, but now it was beginning to mean a lot more to him. He still had a good year and a half until his mandatory retirement from the professional game, and felt increasingly ready.

Rhys caught the snitch – it was extremely close, Harry was happy to note, but he won nevertheless. It wasn't the first time, but had been slowly increasing in frequency. They clapped each other's shoulders on the way down, Rhys not bothering to dismount until he was practically inside the changing rooms, Harry hopping off just above the ground. Draco was standing on the side with a large towel slung over one arm, chatting to one of the Beaters. He looked over as Harry approached, the corners of his eyes softening in a familiar way, the side of his mouth quirking so minutely that to someone who didn't know what to look for his expression wouldn't have changed at all – but Harry did know what to look for.

"Morning," he smiled, accepting the towel Draco placed around his shoulders to stop his sweat from chilling him down too much. He had left the blond enveloped in their duvet a few hours ago. It had been so hard to leave him after spending the weekend together. They had spent the Sunday afternoon at Andromeda's house, packing up Draco's things and even sitting down for a roast (which Draco had almost managed to eat).

Draco gave him a chaste kiss. "Hello. How's your day looking?"

"So far? Frozen, in desperate need of a shower, and in a meeting with the QA's press agent this afternoon. Preliminaries for the photo book for the WC."

Draco shook his head, "You should have made an appointment with Greg – I told you to sort out your shoulder. You should have got that snitch; it's impeding your reach."

"I promise to get my resident physio to look at it tonight."

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "He'll overcharge you," he smirked. Harry laughed and kissed him again.

"Meet you for lunch?"

"Okay."

Harry took his time in the showers, as most of the other players had already finished up and were engaged in whatever appointments they had lined up for their Monday morning. It was so rare that Harry didn't have an appointment that he felt justified in luxuriating for a while. He leaned back under the spray and let the water fall down his chest, rubbing the soapy lather of the shower gel into his aching shoulders and biceps. Maybe Rhys was right; maybe he was getting old for this game. He shook his hair off his face, opening his eyes.

The object of his musing was right in front of him, reflected from the looking glasses along half of one wall. He felt a little voyeuristic, watching his team mate dress, all young, lithe muscles and toned legs, although it wasn't as though they hadn't all seen each other naked before. The setting of it, however, made him feel a little pervy as he appraised the younger man's body. He tried to see what Draco had seen in Alex. True, Alex was a little older than Rhys, but the physique was similar and they were both in their twenties, openly gay, and to be honest, rather delectable to look at.

He assessed himself for feeling of wanting – for indications of desire to be unfaithful, for a craving toward the other man, but found nothing. In fact, the thought of infidelity (again) left him feeling repulsed. A glance down his own body only certified that he was indeed feeling no undue arousal from the spectacle of the half-dressed athlete. In one sense he felt he should be slightly concerned about his libido, but on the other he was thankful to realise that his own feelings for the man he was spying on could move from slight professional resentment to a desire to mentor him into the next level as his own potential replacement in two years' time.

He stepped out of the spray, making sure he had a towel wrapped securely around his waist before shutting down all of the jets. Being the last to shower it was his responsibility to turn the water off, and Rhys was sure to notice. As predicted, the cessation of sound caused him to look up from his broom, which he was lovingly working on with a tub of polish and a soft rag. He grinned, turning his attention back to the handle without as much as a flicker. Harry grimaced to himself – so, it looked like he was old, at least by a twenty-odd's standards.

"What're you doing today?" Harry asked, sliding his boxers on before removing the towel and using it to dry between his toes.

Rhys shrugged, "could be better – my publicist's set up some horrible meeting with Beth at Witch Weekly. It's between them or World of Wands. Hard to tell which is worse."

Harry blinked at him for a moment, still towelling unconsciously. "I was in the exact same position when I was your age," he said softly, remembering. Rhys looked up at him inquisitively. "You can say no, you know. To anything they want."

"Weekly wants a double page spread, top off, leathers and guards on, in the air. Wands want… well, you know."

"Arse in the air and a cheeky grin?" Harry speculated, pulling a clean top over his head. "Say no if you want to. Or find a compromise. I knew that anything I did might come to bite my son in the arse later, let alone me and Draco. I've always kept the majority of my clothes on. I know it helps generate your press, but don't let them… bully you into getting your kit off."

Rhys frowned down at his broom tail, clippers in hand.

Harry shrugged his jeans on. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stick my nose in."

"They don't leave off."

He rested a comforting hand on the younger man's shoulder. "They won't. Sorry to be blunt, but it doesn't stop. If it did you'd only worry about that too. But over time you'll learn to manage it and get better at the compromise. It's better the more you carry on. Really."

Rhys looked up at him, and for a very swift second, looking down at his blond hair and trim young frame, there was a certain similarity to Draco that made Harry almost snatch his hand away. As it was, he managed to remove his hand at acceptable pace. Rhys looked nothing like Draco. His hair was blonde, yes, but far from platinum and the tanned, boyish facial features were nothing like him. "You can talk to me about it any time," he assured him, turning back to the bench to pull his socks and trainers on. "I've got to drop into my office. See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Sure. Thanks, Harry."

"Any time."

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><p><strong>I know someone will ask, no, I have no plans for Harry to start jeapordising his relationship again by lusting after Rhys. He is starting to realise that he is even luckier than he knew in his relationship, and that a big way to change it and get the things he wants is to begin to let go of his career and bring his family life into absolute priority. Please review and let me know your thoughts from this chapter!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello all, I am _very_ sorry for the huge delay in updating. I am supposed to be writing a thesis right now, have severe writer's block with it and am totally stressed out. There are probably 2 more chapters after this one but honestly I haven't started them yet - sorry, must try harder! I would love reviews - they will give me a proactive boost, which I definitely need!**

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><p><strong>PART SEVEN<strong>

The afternoon was gradually progressing into dusk. The weak, sleepy November sun had been playing hide and seek with the clouds over the pitch all day, and the light was gradually fading, phasing in the floodlights that had flickered into life almost an hour ago. Draco leant against the pale wooden frame of his office window, a cup of green tea lukewarm between his hands. As he watched, the two men on the pitch brought their brooms into near-identical dives, saving themselves the pain of impact at the crucial last moment, spiralling away from the frozen ground with twin whoops of adrenaline. A tiny furrow appeared between the blonde's eyebrows. This was the third time that week he had stood watching Harry and Rhys practice together. It was a very recent development, and one that had his stomach knotted.

He caught a sight of his own barely visible reflection in the windowpane. It was difficult not to notice certain similarities between the blond on the pitch and himself at that age. Yes, the reserve Seeker's hair was a good shade brassier than his, and his physique boasted the all-over bulk of a professional sportsman, but the blue, arresting eyes were almost uncanny and despite the muscles his toned body was not so dissimilar from Draco's in youth. He inhaled almost unconsciously as Harry's arms shot out to support the young man as they tested his balance and reach. He wanted to shut his eyes, draw away from the scene he was torturing himself with, but it was too compelling.

They had loved to fly together after Harry's real practice sessions had ended for the day, just the two of them and the open sky. Draco smiled nostalgically. Although admittedly nowhere near as skilful as his lover on a broom, Draco had adored quidditch as a boy – the thrill and noise and unpredictability of it – and he still felt that abandon in the air. But it was quite rare, now, for him to fly for enjoyment's sake, he realised. Gradually his job had gifted him with increasing responsibilities. Nowadays he was more likely to practice with Teddy on school holidays, than with Harry for fun.

The airborne pair were floating toward the dressing room doors now, brooms pressed together as they drifted, deep in conversation punctuated with laughter. Harry's head tipped back in amusement, exposing the strong column of his neck. Draco ducked out of sight and strode out of his door, intercepting them near the showers.

"How was your practice?" he heard himself enquire, tone unreadable.

Rhys flashed him an easy grin. "Exhilarating." He pulled his training short over his head, chucking it in the direction of his hook, all rippling, peachy skin and tight muscles. He headed into the showers, oblivious to the clenching of Draco's jaw.

"Hey," Harry's arms when round his waist. Draco could feel the heat of his body through the back of his shirt, felt the brunet shift the hairs at the back of his neck with the tip of his nose, before pressing a kiss there – rendering him instantly weak behind the knees. For a moment he gripped the brunette's forearms, head tilted onto his shoulder. Harry nipped him playfully. "Fancy soaping down with me?"

He stiffened. "Not now." Rhys was in there, all lithe and limber and …luscious! Draco shifted out of Harry's grasp. "It's been a long day."

"Well I'm sweaty," Harry returned, a moment's hesitation belying his confusion. He dithered for a second. "Let's go home and wind down, yeah?"

Draco sighed, relieved. "We can open some of that red."

888

Harry stretched a leg out further, trying not to jostle Draco who was snoozing on his chest. Carefully, he slid his quarter-full glass of wine onto the coffee table, thinking back over his practice session with Rhys that afternoon. He was surprising himself with how much he was enjoying mentoring his potential future replacement. The only way to ready himself emotionally for his impending retirement was to acknowledge the other player as his natural successor, and to work hard to leave behind a lasting legacy. Not to mention, he quite liked Rhys. He had quickly come to realise the vulnerability of the young man, his greenness with the media, and his mixed emotions of pride and embarrassment at the antics of his fans – not unlike Harry himself when he had entered the league.

The last embers of the log fire in the grate sputtered a little, prompting him to carefully levitate a few more bits of wood from the pile in their big willow basket. The light flared again slightly as the bark caught, then calmed down again. The soft warmth spread over his face and arms, painting Draco's hair a shimmering gold. That simple enhancement alone had him gradually becoming aroused, uncertain as to whether he could ask Draco for what he wanted. The strange brush-off by the showers that afternoon played on his mind again, after being shunted to one side while they ate, talked, and generally went about their evening as they usually did after a long day. He pressed his face into the blonde's neck, inhaling the familiar scent: cologne, massage oil and his own smell – something indefinably Draco. Before he knew it he was kissing that neck, that soft temple, and lightly lined forehead, followed by the pale mouth, lips lightly parted in sleep.

"Harry."

He kissed him again. Blue eyes opened, unfocussed and dream-muddled. A small dimple appeared in the left corner of his mouth, chin tilting up slightly, seeking Harry's mouth again, which he gladly gave him. Their movements were sloppy, familiar and borne of years' worth of practice. Draco's socked foot pushed up the bottom of Harry's jean leg, angora on skin a juxtaposition of softy-soft and slightly-scratchy. His eyes shut again, one hand lazily carding the black locks at his lover's nape, and Rhys and any other man was forgotten.

Harry drew his attention slowly down the column of the blonde's neck, paying special attention to the erogenous zone behind his ear, hands on the buttons near the hem of his shirt, and the drawstring on the soft pyjama bottoms he'd slung on after work. A few kisses on his stomach was the only sore moment, Draco's muscles tenser than a tiebreaker score for just a moment, before Harry moved his attention on to giving him as much pleasure as possible. He raised his gaze to the blonde's eyes, painted dark and inky with desire, the flicker in them as he teetered on the edge, fingers clenching and unclenching in Harry's hair and on his shoulder.

There were many things he had discovered over the years he liked to do to Draco, what he liked to try to make him feel, what he himself personally enjoyed doing, and one of them was oral sex, which was something he had had serious doubts about with the various short-lived boyfriends he'd enjoyed before Draco had happened. It wasn't so much the taste of Draco, although that was nothing unpleasant, or the feeling of power, the blonde's release at his mercy, because ultimately Harry had found that he wasn't so much into power games in bed, although they did indulge now and then. It was more the emotions he was able to read flickering over the blonde's face in moments of exquisite vulnerability like this: emotions of love, and self-worth and deserving. Like right now, looking straight through those inky eyes and into his soul, the wonderment that someone could want to bring him pleasure like this, coupled with the underlying uncertainty of his own deserving. And it was Harry's job to wipe away that moment of doubt. Moments like this: it wasn't just a blowjob, not then; how could something so revealing be so crassly explained away?

He pulled back and worried the tip of the blonde's arousal with the underside of his bottom lip, flicking his tongue over and over, waiting for that high, desperate keening sigh, the wordless plea, the indicator that it was time to finish the job and accept his lover's release, hands gripping and caressing the underside of his flushed thighs.

Draco arched and spilled over and over, wide awake and gasping. His lips parted under Harry's again, his muscles both liquid and greedy, hands desperate for the warm skin of the Seeker's back, a ragged laugh drawn from the depths of his breathless lungs. They separated briefly, the tatty t-shirt Harry had thrown on after his shower ending up under the coffee table. It was Draco's favourite thing, to run the pads of his fingers, the palms of his hands, all the way over Harry's torso and back again, and then again, until every inch had been touched. It was something he never got tired of. The brunet gave him a lopsided smile, half teeth and half shy acceptance of his desire for him. That particular expression always reminded Draco of the boy-Harry, the bane of his Hogwarts days, of the later Harry in his mid-twenties, asking him to adopt Teddy with him, and the recent Harry in his quidditch uniform, looking back at him over his shoulder after winning the World Championship Cup, checking that he'd been watching him. All of those Harrys rolled into that one smile; the one Draco liked to think of as _his_.

A small glance passed between them, a swift communication, then Draco was apparating them away to their large bed, one hand reaching out to the bedside drawer even as the rest of them was materialising; groping for oil and balm. He kicked Harry deftly onto his front, the action playful and demanding. Unscrewing the lid on the pot of balm he smoothed his fingers into the creamy substance before rubbing his palms together. Harry groaned, pinned with his own arousal trapped beneath him, but equally as impatient to feel Draco's hands on him. Thumbs and then the heel of those talented hands mashed firmly against his lower back, eliciting a deep groan of satisfaction. Greg was a good masseuse, but there was nothing like Draco's hands on him: Draco's hands were paradise.

"Three days, one match, before we break for Christmas," Draco reminded him, running his hands forward up between Harry's shoulder blades, scooting forward to straddle his bottom. "All that time to spend in bed."

"We should probably pay a bit of attention to Ted," Harry said, rolling his shoulders into the strong press of fingers, and cushioning his head of his arms.

"Can we talk about that when I'm not grinding a hard-on into your back?"

Harry laughed: "Is that was that is? I thought it was a special massage trick."

"It is: The Potter Special," Draco replied, moving backward, peeling away Harry's tracksuit bottoms to reveal the curve of his arse. He kneaded the soft cheeks for a moment, before biting one – a little harder than intended.

"Ow! I still have to train tomorrow, you arse!"

"Oh no, _your_ arse," Draco smirked, upending the oil over the Seeker's buttocks. Harry shivered and looked round at him. Their eyes met, one of Draco's hands braced on the brunette's hip as the other worked with slow movements. "This okay?"

Harry nodded; head tipped forward, one eye still on his lover. A tap on his thigh prompted him to kneel up, arranging his cheek on the pillow.

"Want me to find a condom?"

"If you don't mind showering after, no."

Their movements became slower, less hurried, Draco's hands still smoothing over the muscles of Harry's strong back and shoulders, turning him over onto his back halfway through, the built thighs around his waist. The small height difference always worked in their favour like this, enabling him to lean right over Harry without having to contort into awkward angles. They fit, Draco thought, they _fit_.

888

POTTER AND MALFOY REUNITE!

TENTATIVE TRUCE OR ULTIMATUM?

_Exclusive Report by Rita Skeeter_

_They never fail to keep us guessing, on the pitch and off it. Potter and Malfoy, the romantic power couple of our time, have reunited after a three-month cooling period, instigated by Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, the esteemed sports healer and exclusive physiotherapist to the Brinsbourne Beaters, of which Potter still maintains starter Seeker position (despite a lessened track record – for more information see statistics at the back of this publication), called the halt on their relationship after Potter's scandalous affairs with fellow quidditch players during away-training. Potter's ego, blown out of all proportion at the tender age of seventeen following the demise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is no doubt given a short rein by the possessive blond, whose strict family background curtailed extravagant displays of arrogance in public. (For a full depiction of the Malfoy family tree, including profiles of Malfoy's parents, deceased, go to page twelve.) _

_Malfoy fled the family home in South Kensington following Potter's well-publicised indiscretion with Alexander Cutteridge, the support Seeker for the Tornadoes. A man significantly younger than Potter, this reporter can now reveal that Cutteridge's proclivity for his fellow players may not be restricted to Potter. This Prophet is currently awaiting confirmation from sources close to Cutteridge regarding several counts of infidelity against his former lovers. This reporter has the feeling we will see more of Cutteridge's exploits in the near future. _

_As for Potter, fans of the star Seeker will be gratified to learn that following a stern ultimatum from Malfoy, reportedly the threat of withdrawal of Potter's parental rights to their adopted son Theodore Lupin, Potter has taken clear actions to turn this turbulent relationship around, including a strict ban on contact with attractive younger players. This reporter is happy to divulge to her readers information from her reliable sources that Malfoy has now returned to their family home, and…_

Draco gazed blankly out of his office window, face angled toward the duo outlined against the otherwise deserted pitch, the current copy of the Daily Prophet he'd been reading through grasped loosely in his hand. Harry and Rhys, out there again. He swallowed, trying not to panic. He could not quite convince himself that nothing was between the two. When he had arrived at work that morning, his breath standing out before him in the frozen air, it was to find the two of them deep in conversation as they braced on the press-up benches. He twisted away from the window quickly and was confronted by the plate of sandwiches sitting under a stasis charm on his desk. He had tried to eat one but it had made him sick, and it had taken supreme effort not to throw them straight in the bin. He felt lightheaded as he scrambled for the door, moving as though a hundred other people were restricting his path.

By the mouth of the corridor to the team dressing room, his Firebolt 360 was sitting in the wall-bracket with Greg's and the spare ones belonging to the trainers. Usually he didn't have much call for it, except during a dire emergency on the pitch, but he found it in his hand as he made it out of the doors, kicking into the air without even thinking about it. The air was fresh and exhilarating whilst at the same time shockingly chilling. Harry noticed him immediately, and Draco's heart, ribs and really his entire chest lifted at the sight of his lover's open grin.

"Hey!" He shouted over the wind, swooping nearer. Rhys was hovering just inside his peripheral vision, but he couldn't tell what his expression was.

"Hey baby," Harry continued to grin, pulling his broom alongside, their thighs touching – the only warmth in the cold sky. "This is a surprise. Want to practice with us?"

Us. Draco recoiled slightly, but managed to keep his broom steady. "What – what are you working on?"

"Just going over the feints for tomorrow." Right, tomorrow. The match. Draco felt stupid.

In the end, he hovered around the pitch, watching the two Seekers feinting, and doing a few loops to keep himself warm. Rhys broke off first, and Harry circled Draco's broom a couple of times, a soft smile on his lips.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just love flying with you. Shall we go down?"

They drifted slowly. This time, Harry didn't ask him to soap down, making straight for the blonde's office instead. Draco followed pensively, hanging up his broom and letting the warmth of the corridor wash over him. Unfortunately, he was so busy thinking about flying that he walked directly into Harry's back. The sandwiches were still on the table. They looked at them for a few moments.

Harry felt back behind him and caught his fingers in his. "Do you need to talk about something?"

"I just wasn't very hungry. I didn't throw them away."

"Come on." They sat on the massage bench, hands linked.

Draco took a deep breath. "Would you – Rhys. Tell me about Rhys."

Harry's hand went rigid in his grasp. "Are you asking me if I'm having an affair with him?" Draco didn't reply, the answer implicit in the silence. "He's a kid. He's only four years older than Ted."

"I know it's stupid."

Harry sighed explosively, turning to face him. "Not stupid, given – you know. But unfounded. I like mentoring him. That's all. He's just discovering himself as a gay athlete, he's just starting the whole crazy period with the press…it's like … he's _me_, you know? Me at the start. I'm going to retire, and I want him to take my place. He deserves it."

Draco gave him a pensive look.

"What?"

"You're more …ready, to retire."

"I want more time with you and Teddy." He did not need to add, 'and any other children,' but the thought was implicit.

Draco exhaled slowly, the tension leaving him finally. He manoeuvred them to lie on the narrow padded bench, his back resting against Harry's abdomen. "Hmm," Harry's cheek brushed against his temple, once, twice, nuzzling him. He still tried to keep his hair as soft as possible. They lay for long moments, Harry's arms around him, their fingers entwined. "Are you fit for tomorrow?"

"You tell me."

"You'll do." He reached back, massaging lightly, listening to Harry's breathing hitch.

"Draco."

"Why not?"

"You hate having sex in the office," Harry reminded him.

Draco pushed himself up on an elbow and twisted to straddle him. Harry's neck and cheeks were flushed with interest. "Everyone's gone." He dipped his head to him, and they kissed deeply for long moments, lips disconnecting in regular motions to allow for breaths. Caresses of long companionship and love. One of Harry's thighs was crooked to help support him as he undulated forward on his lap, eliciting a quiet groan of approval. He pushed the hem of Harry's training shirt up, pushing his fingers strongly against his stomach muscles and up to his nipples, before manhandling the garment off him and letting it fall over the back of the bench. Harry's hands went into his hair and around the base of his neck, one thumb stroking over the bump of his Adam's apple; he moaned, sucking his tongue into his mouth and sharing their tastes. A faint rasp of stubble tickled his chin and he whimpered, helpless despite his position of control, his hands braced on the Seeker's biceps. One of Harry's hands came down to knead the globes of his bottom, and despite himself he had a fleeting wish that he'd eaten the sandwiches to give him a little more to grab hold of.

On a whim he summoned one over, chewing it while Harry laid there under him, bemused – some crumbs fell on his chest. He raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm hungry," Draco stated.

"Yeah," Harry said, running his hands over the blonde's thighs and up the back of his healer's tunic, "but I was under the impression it was for me."

Draco smirked. "Need energy for what I plan to do to you." Just to taunt him, he summoned the next triangle, a sliver of cucumber flopping onto the floor by his desk. He chewed the last mouthful thoroughly, his hands already stroking the brunette's nipples with the backs of his knuckles, watching them peak gently.

"Fuck!" Draco whipped round, nearly falling off the bench – Harry's seeker-fast hands shot out to steady him. "Sorry."

Shit, they'd forgotten Rhys. The young man was in the doorway, back quickly turned to them. "Sorry," he said again. He sounded rather shocked. "I'll just-"

"Rhys," Draco stilled him. He looked down at Harry, sharing a humorous expression between them. They carefully disentangled and got down from the bench, Harry reaching for his shirt, and Draco for the errant cucumber slice. "Sorry, you can come in. We don't usually – I mean, I don't want you to think that's what we do in here."

Rhys turned his head carefully, half looking at them. "I didn't mean to."

"It's fine," Harry said, taking a seat in the desk chair, his clothing safely righted. "We forgot you were still here."

"How's your shoulder?" Draco queried, casually flicking his wand at the blue cover on the massage bench and exchanging it for a fresh one. He turned round. The younger man was still lingering in the doorway. "For Merlin's sake Rhys, come in."

He shuffled forward, casting an uncertain look between them, still embarrassed. "I thought it was okay when we were flying but just now in the shower it was like I pulled it again. All I did was reach up for my towel."

"Alright, let's have a look. Harry," he turned, remembering that ostensibly an examination should be private, "meet you at home?" He gave him an apologetic look, knowing that he would get the message.

"Shall I start dinner?" The brunette's gaze strayed to the unfinished sandwiches, despite himself.

Draco met him by the corner of the desk. "Make a reservation, yeah? We'll eat out – big game tomorrow." He kissed him chastely on the cheek, and watched him apparate out before turning back to the younger blond. "Okay, let's have a look. Circe's tits I'm not going to molest you!"

Rhys laughed and carefully pushed his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. "Teach me to knock."

"We really don't usually indulge at work."

"I'm not going to run off and tell anyone."

Draco inspected the shoulder area carefully, casting a diagnostic charm. They had been having issues with it for two weeks now. "Things have been a bit odd between us recently," he offered, feeling that he should give some kind of explanation. "Okay, brace on the wall bar. Has someone twisted your arm? Maybe in training this morning? You can play if you need to tomorrow, but your reach is off."

"I may have been with Nick last night."

"Watch out, that's your opponent tomorrow."

"I know." Rhys gritted his teeth as Draco pummelled the muscle group into submission before massaging a warming gel into the skin. "Do you think that's a problem? I mean, could be a problem – like, if I made it publically known."

Draco met his eyes in the mirror, looking for a trick. But the boy seemed to genuinely want his advice. Maybe Harry was mentoring him after all. "Only if you let it. Skeeter will probably try to make things difficult for you." He leaned on the wall bar, hip resting, looking at the other man properly for the first time as a boy rather than a patient or a rival for Harry's affections.

"She has a way of manipulating the other reporters," he continued, "making them think they're going after a story that already exists, rather than a fabrication of hers. You'll go through it too, but hopefully to a lesser degree. When we were first living together, we were a bit older than you. So-called 'journalists' would go through our muggle rubbish bins looking for things they could make stories out of, they even did an 'exposé' on our diets once. We quickly learned to simply burn sensitive material. When we adopted Teddy our lawyers drew up rules prohibiting pictures of him, but there were some who managed to get round it despite the stern penalties. If you can cope with all of that, you'll do fine. You've already come out, that's a huge hurdle in this business. When Harry did it was the scandal of the year, if not the next five years."

"I remember."

"Yeah," Draco twisted the cap of the healing balm on and off, wistfully. "but it was so worth it in the end. And you know, he's him, 'Harry Potter,' and I'm me, 'reformed Death Eater,' - that's what the papers liked to call me at that time; you don't have to cope with any of that stuff. Do you want to go public with Nick?"

"I'm not sure; I've only been seeing him for just over a month. But, I don't want to hide it."

Draco placed a friendly hand on the healing shoulder. "Look after your arm tonight. I need to get home before Harry dozes off. We can have another session before the match."

"Okay."

"And Rhys – you're ready for this, alright?"

"Right, thanks Draco."

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><p><strong>Please review, it's lovely of you! skinnyrita xxx<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry for the late update! So much work and so little time but thankfully the muse visited me this evening and not only does this chapter have a decent length and well-researched authentic quidditch terms (disclaimer any rules etc you may have found in Quidditch Through the Ages are of course JK Rowling's creation and not mine) but also ends with a sizzling slash scene that warrants reviews please! **

**Thank you and goodnight!**

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><p><strong>PART EIGHT<strong>

"…He's down! Ooh that was a _nasty_ collision there ladies and gentlemen – Brinsbourne's Jennings takes a Bludger to the balls, down he goes… twenty-eight minutes into play now, it's really on – Portree's Nick MacGerris passes to Quigley – pass, pass, pass, he lines it up – close! Saved! Play stands, Brinsbourne Beaters favour 40-30. It's a close game out there – foul! Has he given it away? Smith fouls for cobbing – and Potter dives, Morgan in pursuit – it's a feint! Potter away, Morgan – ooh so close – brushes the grass but escapes collision…"

Draco sat on the edge of the side bench, the knuckles of his left hand tight white around his broom. The last match before Christmas was always bloody. The Brinsbourne Beaters were only a point above their new nemeses at the top of the league table – today's opponents, the Pride of Portree, who had snuck quietly up the scoreboards, were pulling out all the vicious gameplays around to try to knock them off their top-spot. Next to him Ben, the Chasers' strategist, had his hands fisted tightly in his hair, his knees jogging up and down, eyes flying everywhere as they followed the actions which was unfolding at a hurtling pace.

"Potter dives again – rolls – Bludger glances off him – close call that …Morgan intercepted by Hollyfeather and the Snitch disappears!"

Draco took a couple of deep breaths, watching the offending Bludger swoop away from Harry again.

"MacGerris has the Quaffle, dodges Hollyfeather – he scores! Portree tie 40-all and everything to play for – that was uncalled for! MacGerris takes a Bludger to the right elbow – Circe that looks painful-"

"Rhys," Draco's hand shot out and restrained the younger man firmly.

"He's hurt!"

"He's your opponent, now _sit_." He kept an eye on Portree's healer, Michael. "He's strapping it."

"Is that bad?"

"He's going to be subbed."

"Oh, god."

Time was called. The teams alighted, gratefully accepting towels enriched with warming charms, and bottles of water while they waited. Draco conferred with Greg, who had been tending Jennings' Bludger injury. It didn't look like he'd be able to get back on a broom for a while. "Reid, start warming up," Wandersley decided, walking up and down with his ever-present clipboard. Draco made his way towards Harry, who met him halfway, using the time on the ground to do a fast diagnostic spell on his shoulder.

"Is it tight?" he asked, cautiously kneading him.

"No… a little. It's bloody cold up there."

"Well if you catch the Snitch like you're supposed to we can go home and put the kettle on," Draco griped, his breath misting in the cold air. He was thankful for his heavy winter cloak and the warming charm he'd cast on the scarf around his neck.

Harry laughed. "What a rock and roll lifestyle."

The blond shook his head at him. "You'll be fine – but do try to get this over with won't you? You're giving me a heart attack out there."

"I'll see what I can do."

Play resumed, and if anything the taste of warmth has made the pace even more frantic – the players became blurs of purple (Pride's uniform being a deep purple colour with a vibrant gold star on the chest) and white (Brinsbourne's colour was a dazzling white with electric blue zig-zags that Draco had often teased Harry about as they weren't wholly unlike the shape of his scar) around the pitch, the Quaffle a tiny red dot, moving constantly. The Brinsbourne Beaters scored twice more in ten minutes, giving them a comfortable lead on points, but one what would be worth nothing if Portree got hold of the snitch.

"Come on Harry," Draco muttered, grimacing at the sky which was suddenly pregnant with looming rainclouds. He cast an impervious charm on the medical equipment (and on his cloak). Not a moment too soon – fat, splatting droplets of cold rain began to fall, soaking the players in an instant. Draco could just about pinpoint Harry, his uniform plastered to his back as he battled through the inhospitable elements and dodged the murderous Bludgers; they seemed to get agitated when wet.

The commentary became disjointed, the noise of it carried and buffeted on the wind. Draco strained to concentrate, fumbling with the dials on his ominoculars, momentarily stunned when one of their Beaters fell right out of the sky mere feel from his seat. He scrambled up, Greg overtaking him – the wound was to the head, but thankfully not life-threatening – he cast a brief nod of thanks toward Portree's healer, who appeared to have spun 'arresto momentum' toward the free-falling blur of white.

The game was progressing too quickly to take another time out, and another player was subbed in quickly. The swap left them out of back-ups now (apart from Rhys, and the thought of Harry being injured made him feel sick); they needed to finish the game soon. He squinted up at the scoreboard and found that Portree had snuck ahead, 90-50, and play was at an hour and twelve minutes in. Time was spiralling fast away from them.

"Potter feints, intercepting Morgan who pulls out of his dive…and Potter goes into a 'mermaid' – he's seen gold! He's seen it folks – ah! So close, the snitch disappears, Morgan fouls – a disgusting display of blagging as he pulls on Potter's broom tail – is Potter's broom angling to the left? – Hollyfeather skirts 'round Smith, he sc-saved! What an execution! Bad luck, Hollyfeather looking tired now …Great play – Snitch! Morgan! Morgan dives! He's seen it! Potter loops over Reid and they broom-drop mid-flight – wow! Never seen – excellent execution! Potter takes Reid's broom then – he's gaining Morgan – ah! He – Potter – blatches Morgan! Potter, a bad foul! But the snitch is snitchnipped by Quigley – Referee …err – yes, two fouls cancel each other – and where did the snitch end up?"

Draco felt the tendons in his neck go taught, watching Harry get Reid's broom under control – it was a fair swap, he knew the seeker would need a broom without a damaged tail if he was going to dive properly, but he also couldn't remember if Reid's was used to Harry riding it. He wiped the palms of his hands on his trouser leg a couple of times, sweating despite the cold.

"Seekers dive! 20 foot to ground – 7 – Morgan pulls up, Potter – merlin! Potter skims the pitch, the Snitch is there - !"

Draco shut his eyes, the sight of Harry hurtling toward the ground on a foreign broom making him queasy.

"Potter! - - Potter's done it! OH my heart, what a _match_! And there's the whistle, it's all over, it's all over! What a match! Potter victorious, Brinsbourne Beaters close the first half of the season, well deserved, the _top of the league_ – the press have _broken_ the box barrier – Potter does it _again_-"

Draco half sprinted, half stumbled, as fast as his wobbly legs would carry him, focused on the blurry outline of Harry lying on the pitch.

"Harry – don't be hurt you _stupid_ bastard-"

"Draco-" a hand reached up and pulled him down beside him. A laugh burst out of Draco's throat, tears burning his eyes. "Draco, I'm fine. I'm fine." He pressed the snitch into the pale hand, still breathing heavily with adrenaline. "Yours."

"You stupid idiot," Draco breathed, pressing his mouth to the brunette's. Flashbulbs exploded around them, but for the moment he didn't care. "You bloody, beautiful, _idiot_." His knees squelched on the mud.

"Did I scare you?"

"Out of my life."

"Me too, for a moment." Draco shook his head at him, stunned but elated. He pushed the sopping hair off Harry's forehead. "Is Reid's broom okay?"

"Fine," Draco said, not bothering to look. "God." He kissed him again, not caring who saw, who said… whatever. They sat on the ground for several minutes, not getting up until Morgan came over to shake hands.

They lingered for some time at the stadium. There were scads of autograph hunters hoping for Harry's signature, and he was contractually obliged to sign a minimum of fifty, so he tried to get at least half the amount done before hitting the showers. The Hollyhead Harpies had fully turned out for the match, and Draco spent a while chatting to Megan, a mutual friend of theirs, while he lingered near Jennings, who was still finding it to sit down even with the aid of multiple numbing charms. Draco winced in sympathy, hoping the chaser didn't plan to reproduce.

"Oy Tom," Megan called, leering, "how's the testicles?"

Jennings rolled his eyes, looking up from Greg's careful ministrations, trying to get him comfortable enough so that he could walk to the treatment room. "Fuck you," he said in a friendly tone, "why don't you come and find out?"

Megan laughed, turning away to greet an avid group of autograph hunters who had been trying to get her attention.

"Finally she notices me, and I get my bloody balls smashed up," Jennings muttered plaintively, waiting patiently while Greg asked Draco for a second opinion.

"No sex," Draco admonished, "I'll know."

"Bloody hell," Jennings looked down at his offending area and took a couple of tentative steps, a look of great discomfort on his face. "I'll bloody kill Max, that bludger was meant for him!"

Harry jogged back over, leaving Reid to deal with the mob of fans who had congregated by the warm-up ring. He looked less pale now that the shock of his near-fatal dive was wearing off. "Hey," he greeted, giving Jennings a sympathetic nod, "Oh, hi Megan." He slung a damp arm around Draco's waist, "I need a shower - I'm frozen. Meet you outside the treatment room in twenty?"

Draco cast a glance toward the stretcher supporting the fallen beater, who was still out cold. "Better make it thirty."

"Kay."

Draco half watched Harry making his way slowly toward the changing rooms, waylaid several times by clumps of fans, accepting the odd pat on the shoulder from trainers and players from other teams. At one point, a small dark-haired little boy ducked under the public barrier and ran straight into the seeker's leg. Draco stood very still then, watching, as Harry squatted down to the child, shook hands with him and gave him an encouraging smile before lifting him over the barrier into the arms of his parents, who looked embarrassed and relieved. He signed an autograph for them and shared a laugh before ruffling the boy's hair and disappearing into the changing rooms.

"Draco? You alright?" Greg touched his elbow lightly.

"Fine," he said distantly. "I need to-" Suddenly he was by the changing rooms, as though apparated, although he hadn't consciously meant to. "Harry."

Harry turned quickly in surprise, shirt in hand en route to the showers, his clammy pectorals gleaming damply in the clinical lighting. "I thought you needed half an hour?" He wiped himself off briefly with the shirt and chucked it into the laundry bin. "Something wrong? Darling?" His hands came up to Draco's biceps, framing and soothing at the same time. "Hey, you're shaking, come in here." He led him into an unoccupied medical room and locked the door behind them, oblivious to the goosebumps rising on his own torso.

"I love you," Draco told him, feeling a little dazed.

Harry quirked that special smile at him. "Me too. You look a little flushed. You're not still worried about that dive, are you? 'Coz I'm totally fine. We'll go flying with Ted when school breaks up and I'll show you what I d-did," he offered, stumbling on the last word as Draco pressed up against him and met his lips, parting his mouth quickly. "Draco? Mmh, mmh…okay… mmh…" Draco's hands seemed to be in his damp hair and his back, his shoulders and the sodden seat of his quidditch breeches, all everywhere at once. Harry panted, feeling slightly stunned. "Hey, come here." There was a physio bench along the far wall, and they moved across to it and sat down side by side. Draco was holding his hand tightly. Harry caressed him lightly with his thumb.

Draco shut his eyes for a moment, weighing his words. He felt Harry brush the hair back from his forehead and smiled, leaning into the touch and opening his eyes again to look at him. "Teddy comes home in three days."

"Yes."

"While he's home we should – talk – we should talk to him about having a brother. That okay?"

Harry turned round bodily to look at him. His eyes were bright and clear. "Oh my god. Are you – really?"

He nodded, chest tight with emotion. "You're such an amazing dad, Harry, and I haven't told you that enough this year. And I know we talked about it briefly after… everything that happened…but I'm also aware that I didn't really give you an answer. I held it back. But I don't need to hold back. I want to have another child with you. I love our family, and I love you."

"Oh my god," Harry said again. He was staring at him as though he couldn't quite believe it.

Draco was holding both his hands now. "It's crazy, I just – I just saw you, just now, out there with a boy and I just – I don't know Harry, I want this. I want it so much."

"Me too, Draco," Harry choked slightly, both laughing and streaming with happy tears. "Thank you, I – I won't let you down, I swear." Draco made a shushing noise, moving his arms up around his shoulders, holding him closer. Harry sniffed, giddy. "How? When? Oh my god I can't believe this!" He laughed again.

"I did think about the how when I first read your letter, those last few lines."

"Hopeful lines."

"Yes. I thought, adoption? I don't want Teddy to feel estranged from a child who shares blood with one of us, and there are so many unwanted children."

"We could give them a good home," Harry said eagerly, face shining.

Draco felt his mouth twitch. It was hard to stop smiling. "I think so. As for the when, we can start looking into it, together, and then put our names down and I guess hopefully we would time a new addition for your retirement year, which is Teddy's last year of school. Something we do all together, as a family."

They held each other for several minutes. Harry couldn't be sure what Draco was thinking, but for him the moment triggered a powerful reflection on what he could have lost by his own idiotic actions. He held the blond a little tighter. "I always wanted to be adopted by a good family," he whispered, not sure whether he had really intended to voice the thought.

Draco nuzzled into his bare shoulder, the skin warming through gradually. "I know."

888

Harry was finding it hard to take his eyes off Draco since their emotional epiphany in the medical room. Laughter, revelry and general noise was exploding all around him, yet he felt strangely disjointed from it all. His lover was standing across the room conversing animatedly with the healers from Portree, Greg at his elbow. He still didn't look completely healthy to Harry, but Merlin was he ever beautiful. Harry lifted his beer to his mouth, absently taking a swig. The mid-season match always culminated in a huge industry party, and as man of the match he should probably be making more effort, more noise, but if he was honest with himself he was hoping he could take Draco home soon.

"Hey!"

Harry turned his head slowly; one half of him still tuned to Draco even as he turned to greet Rhys, who had his arm around MacGerris, whose arm was in a sling.

"Harry, you know Nick," Rhys was saying, a bright blush colouring his cheeks and neck.

"Good to see you again mate," Harry said, shaking his good hand. "How's the arm? Or are you sick of that question by now?"

Nick laughed. "Had worse. Nice dive."

"Nearly gave myself a heart-attack," Harry admitted, brushing off the compliment. He noticed Alex and a sandy-haired man talking with some beaters from the Montrose Magpies, and frowned before forcing himself not to look. "You two look cosy - Wandersley's going to think you're defecting."

Rhys glanced over his shoulder quickly, finding their manager in the throng. He wasn't paying any attention to them. Harry and Nick laughed at his jumpiness. "Arse," Rhys grumbled, signalling to the bartender. "Besides, it's not a secret."

"Good job Nick," Harry grinned, saluting them with the beer bottle. He turned and paid for their drinks for them, and they headed towards a newly vacated table. Draco turned and caught his eye briefly before returning to his conversation. He smiled their secret smile. Jennings joined their table, still walking sort of bow-legged, but looking happy, two girls from the Harpies in tow. They pulled in chairs commandeered from around the room and began dissecting the afternoon's gameplay. The analysis got progressively heated, but it was a lot of fun and Harry felt himself being drawn into the discussion as they began comparing the strategies of the top league players.

The evening drew on, members of their little group joining then leaving, replaced by more. One of the Harpies, their keeper Rachel, was about to go on maternity leave, and the women at their table spent several minutes cooing and touching her tummy. Harry found it hard to stop grinning at that point, restraining himself from doing the same. Lots of the male quidditch players across the league were dads, but only a scant handful of the female players, as after pregnancy few found they wanted to return to the game. The Harpies had a reputation for strident feminism and it was hard to judge which way Rachel might go, although she was assuring her team mates that she fully intended to return. From a competitor's viewpoint, Harry rather hoped she wouldn't, as her keeping skills were second to none, and hopefully her replacement wouldn't be quite so good.

A long fingered hand threaded into the unruly locks at his nape and he tilted his head back, looking into Draco's face. The blond dropped a chaste kiss to his forehead, moving to drape his arms comfortably over his shoulders. Harry leant his head against his torso as Draco joined easily into the conversation. At one point he did lay a hand on Rachel's swelling abdomen, his status as a healer giving him carte blanche to take a more hands-on approach. He shared a secret glance with Harry as he did so, and they both knew they wanted to go home now, and away from the ruckus. They extracted themselves casually, shaking hands with Rachel's husband and slipping unobtrusively away.

888

It was dim in the outer corridor leading to the floos and appartition points. Harry pulled Draco against him, groping for an alcove. He saw a brief flash of moisture as the blonde's front teeth caught his bottom lip for a moment, eyes teasing. "Unhand me Potter," he drawled unconvincingly, stepping backward slightly into the nook.

"Make me," Harry grinned, nipping him playfully on the jaw, earning a huff of repressed laughter and a shiver.

Draco's long fingers threaded across his scalp, tilting his head back slightly before biting his bottom lip, "exhibitionist," he murmured softly. Their eyes met. Harry let his face fall as unguardedly as possible. He felt spellbound and submissive and he loved Draco. The pads of Draco's other hand drew down his cheek. "Shall I take you home?" he asked, head on one side.

Harry swallowed. "Yes, please."

"Come on then," he decided, taking the brunette's hand decisively and marching them sedately toward the apparition point, although Harry felt like he would have run. Would have flown.

They materialised on their front step with the minimum of fuss, Draco's key already in his hand. Their street was quiet, illuminated by stars and streetlights (though the latter more so). Harry felt a cool breeze lift the hairs on the back of his neck as he listened, eyes half closed, to the clicks of the deadbolt locks. He shivered pleasantly, recognising Draco's breath on him; imagining the pale pouting lips pursed slightly as they expelled a sensual stream of air against his skin. A gentle hand on his lower back propelled him through the door and into their warm hallway, where he stood like a dazed lemon while the blond relieved himself of his cloak, scarf, and gloves. He paused, then repeated the process on Harry, their lips meeting gently over the clasps of his long winter coat.

"My man of the match," Draco breathed, the final letters rolling off his tongue with a soft 'tch' across the lobe of Harry's right ear. Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again and swallowed. He knew better than to interrupt Draco in 'man of the match' mode. Desire coursed through him as he hesitantly raised his eyes to the calm blue windows of the blonde's face. They were already darkening. Harry swallowed again, his mouth full of saliva, and adjusted his gaze to the blonde's throat, where an unruly pulse gave a jump. He felt, rather than saw, the blonde's hands rising to his face, cupping his jaw and trailing a single finger on each side, behind his ears. He let his eyes fall closed, and heard Draco swallow, his lips close-by once more. He waited patiently, until: "Tell me you submit."

A breath he hadn't realised he was holding expelled from between Harry's lips, and he felt the hallway carpet under his knees. "I submit," he mouthed soundlessly into the hand on his right.

"I can't hear you."

He looked up into the blonde's face, drawing his open mouth across the hand and wrist as he did so, detecting a flicker of uncertainty. They hadn't played this game in a long, long time. "I submit," he repeated, forcing breath he didn't have into forming the words. There was a single, aching beat, then Draco smiled and stepped around him.

"Take your shoes off before coming to bed," he drawled carelessly over his shoulder.

Harry sagged against the warm radiator, relieved.

888

The sheets were cold on Harry' back as he tried to arrange himself casually. Eventually he gave up and perched nervously on the edge of the bed. He still couldn't quite believe that Draco was playing the 'man of the match' game, and hoped he wouldn't cock it up. He had always known that Draco found it both arousing and commanding to have a magically powerful and physically strong man like Harry submit to him, albeit in the privacy of their bedroom where no one would know about it but them. No one had ever said as much, but it was likely assumed that Harry was the aggressor of their relationship, and Draco his willing and sometimes wantonly giving chattel. Not so.

Generally speaking they did not exercise sexual power games. They didn't threaten withholding of sex when they fought, or flirt with other men to incite jealously (although of course the withholding of sex would sometimes occur naturally after a particularly strong argument). They weren't overly kinky, and they didn't play particularly 'dirty' games – not to say that they hadn't ever indulged, but ten years was a long time, and they had fallen into a sexual rhythm that was both comforting like an old pair of socks and still satisfying like giving an itch a good old scratch. That didn't sound particularly romantic, when Harry thought about it like that, but it was the truth.

More truths included his continuing overwhelming sexual attraction toward Draco (characterised mainly through his unwavering devotion to performing orally on the man) and their apparent telepathy in the bedroom. He knew things that Draco liked, like the certain tendon in his throat he liked to be bitten on particularly hard, and the spot on his shoulder he liked to be kissed on before rolling over in the morning, and the way Harry would spread him very slightly if he was taking him from behind. He liked all those things and many more that Harry knew of – pushing Harry's head down he liked, but the other way round was prohibited – luckily Harry also liked it, and would certainly tell the blond if he didn't.

Things he _didn't_ like included sex in the shower (due to an overwhelming fear of slipping, despite the charms, although he did like a shared bath on rare occasions), indecently affectionate public displays, being watched when he cleaned himself you-know-where (a basic necessity, and Draco hated feeling 'dirty') and being tied up or blindfolded. Considering the last, the 'man of the match' game had surprised Harry at first. However, once he realised that it wasn't quite that kind of game, they had relaxed into it and the format had remained similar for the past four years.

Even though the 'man of the match' idea would imply that it was in fact Draco at _Harry's_ beck and call for the night, in reality that wasn't the plan at all. Draco might be reserved in some respects, but he greatly made up for this in other areas, and one of them was being a dominant 'bottom,' teasing Harry into submission and making him beg unreservedly – something they both, happily, got a kick out of. He was enthusiastic and inventive, something Harry was a little shy about, and never failed to address his partner's pleasure (without disregarding his own). And he liked sex. He liked sex a lot. Once, in the early days of their emerging relationship, when the brunet still hadn't quite acclimatised to Draco's libido, the blond had referred to himself, degradingly, face screwed up and mouth a horrible twist of a thing, as a bit of a whore…

"_Your own personal shag puppet, isn't that right?" _

"_Don't talk like that."_

"_Why shouldn't I? You like it when it's happening. When I can't stop. You -You get off on it." _

"_I'm not listening to this."_

"—_Harry, come back here!" _

Harry closed his eyes briefly. Had it only been a few weeks since he'd lost control in this very bed, goading Draco into losing it too, only for the blond to refer to himself as a tamed slut mere moments afterwards? His eyes opened again, ears listening intently. There was water running in the bathroom. Whilst not _expressly_ forbidden, he knew that Draco would hate it if he entered during that particular ritual. He stood up, arms and legs suddenly restless, and paced a couple of times. Would this work? Could they do this? How would it make Draco feel about his body? About Harry touching him? Harry licked his lips a couple of times, staring blindly around the room, focusing on nothing. He tried and failed to remember the last time he'd seen Draco eat that day and cursed himself. Draco would not have invoked the game if he hadn't really wanted it. Harry knew that.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, fingers curling on the hems of the loose boxer shorts he'd pulled on, and waited.

When Draco finally emerged the wait had done its work: the brunet had passed beyond doubt and was back to feeling aroused, and the conflicting emotions only caused his brain to cloud further with desire at the sight of the man silhouetted in the bright light from the en-suite behind him. The only noise as he approached was the slap-slap-slap of faintly wet feet on the floorboards of their bedroom, suddenly muffled by the rich pile of the sheepskin rug as he came to a stop between Harry's knees, spreading them apart until he really couldn't go any further. The blond put two fingers under his chin. "Are you still aroused, Harry?"

"Yes." Harry blinked at the helpless hoarseness of his own voice. He wet his lips and caught the blonde's eyes with his own. "I find you very arousing."

Draco smiled slightly. "Good." He nudged the nearest part of Harry with a knee. "Do I get a kiss?"

Harry liked this. It was undeniable. First, he let his tongue, and teeth, and lips worship the soft, sandy trickle of hair that led from Draco's navel to his groin. He worked carefully, hands smoothing over the blonde's belly just for a moment. The lack of a flinch felt like a victory. The bath towel dropped onto the rug with a muffled thud, and Draco's hands smoothed over his hair, his shoulders and his upper back as he worked on him; kneading and caressing and encouraging. Then suddenly, without warning, roughly forcing him forward, making him gag, just for a single panicked second, before he was released again. He leant back, panting. Draco shifted forward, comfortably sprawling in his lap, waiting for Harry to regain breath.

"I want to taste you."

He offered his mouth willingly, and got Draco's tongue as a reward.

After that initial icebreaker, the night took so many twists and turns that Harry could barely keep up. Draco dominated him in ways he hadn't used (at least, not all at once) for years. He rolled around on their large bed with him until he had Harry pinned beneath him, then proceeded to give him the most intense oral attention he could. Before bringing the brunet to satisfaction he changed his mind and sat astride his chest, freeing his long hair from its customary bands and combing it out gently, taking his time. A few errant strands fell across Harry's face as he watched, spellbound. He came as soon as Draco let him run his fingers through it.

Draco's eyes were inky dark as he pulled one of Harry's thighs over his shoulder. He prepared the brunet slowly, lips against the knee by his jaw, telling him that they have all night. Harry tells, or rather babbles, that he loves him.

"Fuck, fuck Draco…"

"-Draco, _please_!"

"Come on then."

They had a 'break' around two hours into the game, mapping each other's bodies in the low light. It took a little longer for Harry to recover than Draco, and he combed out the long platinum hair again as the blond went down on him a second time, gently teasing him. The long hair rippled gold and silver in the glow of the candlelight (Draco disliked muggle lighting in the bedroom, and at times like this, Harry agrees). An outsider may have thought that the tables of submission had turned at this stage, but Harry knew better. He felt completely at Draco's mercy.

Luckily, Draco was merciful, as always during sex.

They lay side by side, panting, the image of Draco's pale body riding him, using him to get off, emblazoned on the inside of Harry's eyelids. His lips felt slightly bruised from the forceful kiss the blond had used to steal his breath, even as every last inch of Harry's renewed arousal had disappeared deeply into his body. Uniting them. He had felt his heart thrum and wondered whether he was feeling Draco's beat at the same time. After a few drawn out moments, lying there as the final tremors eased out of their muscles, he felt the tip of Draco's nose touch his arm, and then, very gently, let his lips follow it. The game was over.

888

Draco opened his eyes very slowly, letting the harsh winter sunlight filter in gradually, before blinking a few times. An ear-to-ear yawn cracked his face in half and he groaned into his pillow, rolling his shoulders. A gentle kiss landed on _that_ spot. He smiled secretively to himself, and turned over.

"What's that?"

Harry shifted the papers on his lap and showed him the header. "Ted's broom insurance. I need to owl it off this morning if he's going to practice at the club over the holiday."

Draco heaved himself up on an elbow. His throat felt scratchy and their final, rigorous bout of lovemaking that night had left him noticeably… not sore, but, well, 'noticing' he supposed. Harry bent his neck again and kissed him deeply, gave him a little air, and then went deeply again.

"Wait, just – finish this first." He put his free hand against Harry's shoulder, who laughed and offered him the quill.

"Just needs a co-sign."

Draco signed, and they looked at the parchment for a moment, allegedly to check that all was in order, but in actuality to look at both their names under the 'parent' field, and they both knew it. Even after so many years it was the little things that made their adoption of Teddy so …real, somehow. Harry kissed him on the crown of his head. "Be right back," he said, padding half-naked out of the room, no doubt toward their small owlery.

Draco lounged, luxuriating in the real start of the Christmas break and anticipating Teddy's return in a few days' time. Waking up with Harry was in itself a novelty in some ways. The brunet quickly returned to the bed, and they lay in a comfortable silence, Draco's back to his chest. He drew the tips of his fingers over Harry's muscular arms a few times.

"Draco?"

"Mm."

"You make me so happy."

He turned to look at him. "You make me happy too," he returned, the last words muffled against Harry's mouth. "What?" There was a certain mischievous look in the brunette's eye.

"Shall we have breakfast in Paris?"

* * *

><p><strong>Next chapter - Paris! Isn't it nice to see the author giving Harry and Draco what they want for a change? <strong>

**Please review, it's lovely of you :-) **


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